Black Luminary
by YakAge
Summary: The war against the Dark Lord was the last straw. The oppressed, fed up with oligarchy, corruption, and injustice, sharpened their knives, rallying behind those who promised change. They won. Today, Magical Britain is a changed country – for the better. Hail and praise to our saviours! Finally, all is well. But listen! Can't you hear the grindstone turning still ...?
1. HD: Of things remembered part I

**Black Luminary.**

 **Book one: Houses divided (chapter 1 – chapter 25)**

 **Of things remembered part I**

* * *

A certain raven-haired boy lay on his bed, brooding over an absurdly large tome he had procured from the family library: Master Nentray's _Complete Guide to Barriers and Wardings_ seemed very keen on upholding its promise of completion, as it held a staggering 12,000 pages. He carefully opened the formidable work and was surprised to find that what he had considered to be a fairly recent guide to protective charms turned out to be the unpublished magnum opus of a renowned charms master from the 18th century. With reverence, he turned the softly rustling vacat pages and stumbled upon a small handwritten note. The immaculate script in black ink read:

'Weight reduction and compression charms added at my personal leisure, along with a few private observations and recent discoveries for the reader's benefit. Before you start ranting about how I befouled our book, be grateful you don't have to sneakily drag thirty pounds full of charms from the library to your bed in the dead of the night, smart ass. With best wishes to the family – D. Black'

Harry chortled softly. He had indeed snuck into the library to … borrow this particular book, but he doubted his grandfather would be very cross with him. In fact, he had encouraged Harry to show interest in this particular branch of magic. Thinking about generations of young Blacks covertly trying to fool their parents, who in turn must have done the very same, amused him deeply before he plunged into the art of warding.

Hours later he gently stored his new treasure under his bed and conceded that he might as well get at least a few hours of sleep. A look towards the window told him that dawn was not far off. Still thinking about his new project, he mused that the only reason Nentray was not on some kind of black list was that he had apparently already grossed out the publisher, who had refused to go public. Not that the tome contained any kind of malevolent magic, but the author seemed to take vindictive pleasure in describing the consequences suffered by would-be intruders. Harry was mostly interested in the deeper theory though, so the somewhat disturbingly graphic descriptions did not irk him. In fact, to Harry it seemed that Nentray had been an incredible genius and only failed to get recognition due to his somewhat vile personality. With one last look at his bedside table, he remembered the big envelope that resided well-hidden and deep within. Smiling to himself, he turned around, falling asleep within a few minutes.

Breakfast was always a quiet affair. Arcturus, Harry's grandfather, was as usual deeply engrossed in the Prophet, tea seeming to be his only concession to the occasion. Harry did not mind though. He was always distinctly irritated in the morning and the quiet company was most agreeable to him. Even the house elves had picked up on their habits and silently placed a bowl of porridge in front of Harry. Fifteen minutes later, the latest scion of the house felt measurably more content. As if picking up on this, his grandfather spoke up without setting aside his newspaper, 'Had a good read last night? Surely you remember our talk of library books and where they belong, dearest Grandson?'

Harry's first instinct was to dispute the accusation but, remembering whom he was talking to, he refrained from doing so. A more careful response was needed here.

'I think so. Though I have as yet reserved judgement on the tome's quality, it seemed most promising when I had a look at it in the library.' Harry carefully examined his sentences and silently congratulated himself. He had indeed had a look at Nentray's opus in the library. What he had done next was better left unmentioned.

Arcturus' head appeared from behind the Daily Prophet and gave him a calculating look.

'Surely, Harry, you dutifully withheld yourself from sneaking off with said book then?'

Harry winced. 'Eh – no, sorry.'

To his surprise, his grandfather chuckled. 'It's alright this one time. Do be careful though. That book is a unique.'

'A what?' Harry quickly blurted out before correcting himself. 'Sorry. What is a unique, Grandfather?'

'A unicum, Harry. I am quite sure neither the Ministry nor Hogwarts has a transcribed copy.'

Harry was baffled. Usually, Arcturus was quite strict where the library was concerned.

Apparently noticing the flabbergasted look on his grandson, Arcturus added, 'My own grandfather once told me how he was apprehended smuggling the very same book out of the library by _his_ own grandsire. In any case, it is indeed a very good reference book and you will do well studying it. I had Cranky do a preservation charm on it, in any case. Please note that our rule still stands regarding any other book. Do we have an understanding?'

In spite of the reproof, Harry smiled brightly, 'Thank you, Grandfather.'

'It is quite alright. Why don't you show me some of what you have learned, and we can later talk about your understanding of the theory before our evening lesson?'

Harry smiled. 'I'd like that. Thanks!'

Seeing the smug look of his grandfather, he thought he could get away with what he had in mind. 'Say, Grandfather,' his voice drawled. 'How did it come to pass that your very own grandsire told you about his apprehension with that tome?'

His eyes danced roguishly in amusement as Arcturus twitched slightly.

'Ah well, Harry. Let me just say that said occasion was not at all as amusing as I may have made it out to be.'

The old house elf, who had not uttered a single word all morning, took Harry's empty tableware and added with a look of playful malice, 'Oh, Master Harry! Cranky remembers very well. Cranky had to supply old Master Phineas Niggelus with a most potent calming draught, after he had finished screaming at the top of his lungs for nearly two hours. Even though Mistress Black had ordered Cranky to do preservation charms on any books young Master Arcturus might fetch out of the library, in any case.'

Harry looked in wonder and glee at the ancient house elf and said eagerly, 'I think we should have a talk about some more old stories, Cranky.'

The elf seemed to enjoy the prospect and nodded contently, 'It would be Cranky's pleasure, Master Harry.'

Arcturus had retreated behind the Daily Prophet, but the slightly irregular rustling of the paper told Harry his grandfather might not be altogether comfortable with the topic.

 _~BLHD~_

True to his promise, Arcturus offered him insight into, and helped him comprehend some of the more obscure concepts of wards that evening. He even directed Harry to practice a basic ward that repelled vermin, as well as the _Protego_ shield. The first was easy enough, as it was one of the easiest wards to cast. In general, the difficulty of a ward derives from several factors: subject, object, permanency and reaction were the most tangible pillars of wards. _What_ is to be defended, against _whom_ , in _which way,_ for _how long_. A ward against non-sentient, non-magical creatures which was only meant to repel the creatures from a small area and would not have to hold up for very long was no real challenge. The weaving of the ward became infinitely more complex once the application evolved, as even a slight misstep might undo the ward, or even worse, make it faulty. Thus, truly complex wards were often in the form of runes, as you could make a written plan of the string of runes in advance and avoid the chance of failure. Runes themselves had weaknesses though; a woven ward existed only through bare magic, a runic ward, however, was anchored, and the script itself had to be protected, lest it in turn be targeted. In general, only people with either eidetic memory or prodigious instinct could weave complex wards, which is why Ancient Runes were taught, facultatively, in the second year at Hogwarts, and wards never before sixth year.

Shield Charms, on the other hand, were of broader application, though their drain and power were heavily contingent upon the caster's own magical prowess. Since Harry still did not have his own wand, he was using a Black heirloom which was, to his own and his grandfather's surprise, unnervingly compatible. Arcturus had nevertheless anticipated this particular charm, which was only due to being taught in fourth year at Hogwarts, to be a crisp challenge for a thirteen-year-old. To their mutual astonishment, however, Harry found the casting of the shield so easy, it seemed to spring from the tip of his wand almost by itself. Arcturus was even more baffled that his grandson's shield seemed to practically radiate power and hummed menacingly. He carefully lifted his wand and threw a silent Disarming Charm towards the wall of light. The moment it impacted the softly flowing magic, it rebounded and accelerated to shocking velocity, flew in less than half a second sixteen yards across the dining room, only to finally smash into the wall where the house elves would later find several fissures in the stone. After a brief pause, Arcturus eventually coughed delicately and muttered, 'Maybe you and your wand should tone it down a bit, Harry.'

 _~BLHD~_

Harry remembered well that day a few years ago when he had been taken into Gringotts.

He had been there several times before, of course, as his grandfather was very open with him about the whole family business, but that day had been quite special. After the Ministry had rearranged the Hogwarts curriculum following Grindelwald's defeat, they had decided that children of eleven years were much too impressionable, especially towards political drifts. Thus, Hogwarts changed their age of enrolment to fourteen. O.W.L.s would be tested at the end of fourth year and N.E.W.T.s at the end of the sixth. Seventh year was only accessible to students who qualified and intended to take on an apprenticeship.

It had become customary for children to get their wands directly before starting Hogwarts, so if their parents wished to give them a basic understanding in magic before school – as was encouraged by the Ministry – they had to make do with family or heirloom wands.

After a lot of subtle prodding, his grandfather had finally agreed to have him try some of the Black wands stored away deep in Gringotts. He had originally been reluctant to do so and had told Harry of his reasons; wands could be very picky with whom they bonded and, as far as Arcturus knew, never had a Black wand allowed someone who was not of the family to wield them. It had been a very dreary discussion since Arcturus was extremely serious about making Harry part of the family, as was Harry. The possibility that the wands might object had been a very grim prospect for the both of them.

Harry had always enjoyed the long and winding trips down the labyrinth beneath Gringotts, but that day they'd arrived before he had steeled himself. His grandfather had put both of his hands on his shoulders and said very quietly, 'Harry, you are family, no matter if some wooden stick muses otherwise; as far as I am concerned you are, at the very least, my grandson.'

Harry had drawn comfort from Arcturus' words and did not stifle his relief. He had taken a step forward and then another and had finally come to stand in a dank cavern which was lit by numerous ancient torches. This was the oldest of the Black vaults, the heirloom chamber. Hundreds upon hundreds of items stood on pedestals, hung from the ceiling or lay on shelves, and once he strained his eyes a touch, a slight blueish shimmer around them had told Harry they were well protected and preserved.

He had-quite innocently-asked his grandfather, whom he then still had not felt comfortable addressing as such back then, 'Uncle Arcturus, how come these blue casings never go out?'

His grandfather had looked upon him in stunned silence, as had the goblin, who normally would have stood respectfully behind the head of House Black.

'Whatever do you mean, Harry?'

'I mean this blueish stuff that coats the items. Here,' he had taken a small medallion of pure unblemished silver from a nearby stand and held it loosely in his hand, a small prickling sensation creeping up his arm. 'See? It's difficult to see, but easy enough to feel if you hold it.'

He'd observed their reactions: Arcturus looked ashen and a rare expression of undiluted surprise on his face; the goblin just looked thunderstruck. Their silence had made him uncomfortable, so he added exasperatedly, 'It tickles!'

'Please place the medallion back on the shelf, Harry.' His grandfather had looked oddly restrained.

After he had done as asked, Arcturus had questioned him if he was feeling alright. That had only confused him further. And made him feel as if he had done something wrong, so he'd tried, most foolishly in hindsight, to explain.

'Eh, yes, I'm alright? I just recognised the blue light. Same as in the library on some books, right? It's somewhat hard to get close to these things, but if you know where to push back a bit, it only prickles and you can pick the stuff up. I can even change the colour of the light, see …'

'NO!' both Arcturus and the goblin had screamed. So he had stopped with one hand frozen over the medallion and looked at their miens once again. It had been strange to see Arcturus so riled up in public, and that, finally, had served to drive home the point just how serious the problem at hand had been.

'Listen and listen well, Harry!' Arcturus had explained with forced calm. 'What you say you see are protective enchantments that are hundreds of years old, but usually they are invisible to the eye. What you describe as colour is quite possibly the composite configuration of the ward. Do not change anything like this again, ever, until I myself am sure that you have a sufficient understanding of these matters, am I clear?'

He had only nodded meekly, which in turn had caused his grandfather to pause and calm himself. Slightly softer, the head of House Black had added, 'Harry, wards can be dangerous and are quite advanced magic. These wards here,' he had indicated the shelf from which he had picked up the medallion, 'are extremely harmful. In fact, I would not dare touch them, if I were not the head of my family.' He had exhaled softly.

'Most astonishing, Harry. But do not speak of this outside of the house again. I promise I will tell you what you need to know. Now, we had business, remember, young man?'

Business they had had, and to Harry's and Arcturus' enormous astonishment and satisfaction, nearly every Black wand had some kind of reaction for Harry. After trying nearly 20 wands that lay, still in pristine condition, on a shelf clad in soft velvet, Harry had settled for a very dark and shiny wand his grandfather had identified as a tropical wood of some sort. The previous owner had been so long dead that the small insignia that bore his name was too faded to read. Harry had thought it strange that every object in the vault looked as good as new, but the descriptions and plaques did not appear equally protected.

Nevertheless, he had been unbelievably happy with his find and a comforting warmth had spread from the wand as he held it. It had taken quite some time for Arcturus to convince Harry to store it in his robes for their walk outside. The feeling the wand emitted had been very much addictive.

Harry also remembered that Arcturus had given the goblin a small bag with what he had estimated to be at least 500 Galleons, though – at the time – he had not understood that confusing action.

Three things had come of that day. Firstly, he had had to endure some very uncomfortable questions regarding certain books in the library. Secondly, Arcturus had taken a much more proactive stance in teaching Harry magic. In addition to their general lessons in the early evening, Arcturus had assured his adoptive grandson that he was very proud and would do what he could to hone Harry's talents. Thirdly, Harry had his wand and he was remarkably happy with it. As a matter of fact, it had taken Arcturus six weeks to make Harry at least part from it while taking a shower. He had not been able to explain himself properly, but when his grandfather had asked, he had answered thus:

'I don't know, but it feels good to hold it. It feels right somehow, and it's like I'm all better.' He had not added his nagging suspicion that somehow even the wand seemed pleased when he was holding it. While he felt inexplicably proud that his wand appeared to have taken to him quite decidedly, he still found that somewhat odd.

It would end up taking another three years for young Harry to understand that it had been necessary to bribe the goblin. Gringotts _was_ serious about the protection of their vaults, though, like humans, some individuals had a slightly more flexible approach to work ethic when confronted with a bag full of shiny gold.

 _~BLHD~_

The next day dawned brightly and, once Harry had descended into their informal dining room, seemed willing to uphold its promise of glory. To Harry's great delight, a big brown owl landed on their windowsill, clutching a big brown envelope addressed to him and bearing the Hogwarts coat of arms. Excited, he grabbed the envelope, to the slight annoyance of the dignified owl that hooted in outrage. Paying it no further attention, he crumpled the envelope and read the thick parchment and shortly thereafter handed it to Arcturus, who looked amused at the excessive antics of his grandson. While he in turn read the letter, and Harry watched his guardian's expression turn into a slight smile, the owl stealthily grabbed two slices of bacon and flew out of the window.

'Well, Harry, it seems we should arrange for a visit to Diagon Alley. We may also be able to pick up some things you might wish for your birthday tomorrow. Though I have had some ideas on the matter, you may still voice one wish that has occurred to you.'

'Let's get going then!' said Harry eagerly and to Arcturus' amusement.

'Alright, young man. Make yourself presentable, and be careful to act your part in public.'

It had always been thus, so this thought did not bother Harry. At home, Arcturus encouraged him to be completely open and returned the gesture, but in public things were different. Indeed, Harry was very wary of strangers, and the distance his formal upbringing usually created helped him bridge the feelings of discomfort that plagued him around people he did not know.

Not one hour later, the Blacks emerged from the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron. Arcturus wore a very conservative dark robe of silk and a formal travelling cloak, whereas Harry had dressed in one of his favourite black robes with emerald green contrasts that, while slightly more casual than his grandfather's, still would be readily acceptable to a grand ball. Heads turned upon their arrival, and Harry heard the usual chatter turn to muttering and pointed looks, but he showed no outward sign of discomfort. Arcturus nodded and led Harry towards Flourish and Blotts. As usual, Harry noted the crowds parting before them, while the witches and wizards looked either slightly off-put and embarrassed by their formal attire, or downright angry at their appearance. Even some of the well-dressed people seemed oddly hostile towards the Blacks. Harry, however, was unfazed, all too used to that particular behaviour by now.

The book store was nearly empty, only one family was doing their shopping there and had entered mere seconds before them. A plump, motherly-looking woman had her daughter on hand, while the slightly older son examined some of the more exotic books without enthusiasm.

The shopkeeper soon appeared from some corner in the back and made a very courteous bow to the woman, 'Mrs Weasley, a great pleasure to have you in my store, as always. How may I be of assistance to you today?' The woman seemed slightly annoyed by the exuberant greeting, but nevertheless answered without reluctance.

'Thank you. We need some sets for Hogwarts and a small other matter …' A small bit of parchment was handed to the proprietor whose eyes widened for a moment.

'Of course, ma'am. The book sets come at 5 Galleons a piece, 11 for the first years, and I will be happy to oblige your request free of charge.'

Harry tuned the rest of the conversation out and made his way to the charms section. After several minutes, he came upon a particular find in a polished showcase. F _orgotten Masters at Charmswork: Waldufin, Chzem, Nentray and many more_. Immediately interested, Harry took a look at the small label on the lower left corner of the vitrine. Price on request. The next showcase, which was not nearly as polished, held a book that was priced at the insane amount of 21,000 Galleons. He was reluctant to even ask about the first one.

Dejectedly, he made his way back to the front to find the Weasleys packing up and leaving. He took notice of the hate both children seemed to show his grandfather, who held himself in polite indifference. The shopkeeper bowed them out in an extreme show of hospitality and only turned to Arcturus once the Weasleys were well out of sight.

'Well, what do you want,' he nearly spat out. 'Sir.'

Arcturus replied evenly. 'One set of Hogwarts first year books. That will be all.'

'Sure, sure, that's 18 Galleons.'

Arcturus only raised an eyebrow, but Harry narrowed his eyes. 'Excuse me, sir! Did you not just…'

Arcturus, however, simply grasped his shoulder. 'It is quite alright, 18 Galleons it is.'

The other man seemed almost disappointed that he didn't get to argue, quickly provided the book set and did not so much as say another word after receiving his payment.

Harry was furious, though this time he didn't allow his feelings to reveal themselves. And even if none of the other shops tried to overcharge them, it seemed to him that they were barely tolerated in most of them anyway. Not one person saluted them, which struck him as strange, considering Arcturus had been a politician for nearly his entire life. Only in the late morning did one person exchange hasty greetings with Arcturus, and said person aroused his suspicion immediately. His robings were simple, but he carried himself with an air of self-importance that reminded him of Arcturus and some of his acquaintances. The exchange of pleasantries was short, though they seemed sincere enough. At midday, they finally entered Ollivanders, to Harry's inner excitement; after all, he knew all about the shop and the supposedly strange Ollivander. In his mind, an aura of mystique surrounded this shop. A nice change was the greeting.

'Ah. Lord Black. Welcome, sir, welcome! It is a great pleasure. Birch and dragon heartstring. Very unusual combination. Still satisfactory to your needs, I hope, sir?'

Harry marvelled at the show of mnemonic prowess but remained quiet.

'Indeed it is, Mr Ollivander. Today, however, I am not here for my own reasons,' said Arcturus primly and gestured for Harry to come forward. Ollivander's huge eyes widened even further, and for some reason, a small frown appeared on his lips, though it did only appear to stem from apparent wonderment.

'Ah yes. Mr … Would it be acceptable if I addressed you as Harry, young Master? I feel this may make matters easier.' His small smile made Harry look uneasily towards his grandfather, who in turn seemed slightly puzzled.

'Of course, sir,' Harry offered. Immediately, numerous tape measures flew towards Harry and began measuring him up. The wand maker still had a thoughtful look on his face.

'May I assume that this would not be your first wand in use, Harry? It is not unusual nowadays and I wonder …'

'I _do_ have another one, sir,' replied Harry who, as per usual, felt defensive in the matter of his wand.

Arcturus swiftly picked up on this and prodded Harry gently. 'Perhaps you might show Mr Ollivander your wand, Harry? I am sure he can at least identify it for us?'

Harry had been curious, of course. But the thought of parting with his wand made his stomach squirm.

Arcturus allowed a small smile to appear and spoke soothingly to his ward, 'Harry, no one will take that wand from you. But we may still find you a better fit. I am sure Mr Ollivander will be most careful.'

Harry sighed, but offered Ollivander his wand nonetheless. 'It's not that! I just do not like parting with it, as I have stated a hundred times before,' he added in a tone that was somewhat unfit for the public ear.

Ollivander took the wand and examined it carefully. His eyebrows seemed to rise constantly for at least five seconds.

'Am I to understand that you do not like to part with your wand, Harry? How do you feel about it if you allow me asking so boldly?'

'My grandson is very … protective of his wand. It is an old family wand, of course, but he has never had any trouble wielding it,' said Arcturus with a hint of pride.

Ollivander looked astonished, 'Indeed? Well, let's have a closer look.' He moved one finger slightly above the wood and muttered something that sounded strange to Harry's ears. Afterwards, he revolved the wand slowly in his hand until finally taking hold of it and shooting a minuscule shower of silver sparks in the air. His look of concentration quickly gave way to a deep frown.

'And you say you have no problem at all performing magic with this wand, sir?'

As Harry nodded his head, the wandmaker looked twice between the wand and Harry.

'Extraordinary!' he offered simply. 'Well, this is a … rare wand, to put it simply. Eight and a half inches, African Blackwood with a shrunken sphinx heart at its core. I would venture a guess that this wand is at least 300 years old, as it has been quite some time since any wandmaker used a sphinx component, much less the entire heart … It is not that they make cores of inferior quality, quite the opposite. But they have fallen out of favour due to their intricate personalities. It often takes decades or centuries before a suitable match is found. We still have two sphinx wands in stock, even though we stopped crafting those 450 years ago. There is also the small matter of people having _views_ on the matter of sphinx wands. It is maybe not something to spread around.' He paused shortly before adding, 'Would you mind demonstrating to me your connection to the wand? I find myself...curious.'

He offered Harry his wand, and Harry gleefully took it back. The wand, for its inexplicable reasons, seemed equally pleased and produced a giant shower of silver sparks, the same colour as those Ollivander had produced. Where the wandmaker had only produced two or three sad sparkles, Harry shot forth hundreds of lights that did not immediately disappear but continuously bounced harmlessly off the walls and bathed the shop for 20 seconds in a nearly blinding light of warm silver.

'Remarkable! Truly wondrous…' This was all Ollivander had to say for at least another minute, before he returned to his professional demeanour. 'Very well, to me it seems like a nigh heavenly match. Do you really wish to procure another wand?'

Harry looked unsure and Arcturus made a small gesture to placate his grandson, who already seemed upset at the prospect of parting with his wand.

'How about you try a few wands, Harry. And if you don't stumble upon any you find yourself more comfortable with, we shall keep your sphinx wand.'

Harry did not wish to argue and nodded slowly, personally not keen on trading his wand at all. 'If that's what you think would be best, alright.'

What followed were 40 minutes of agony to Harry. Where his own wand, which he kept in his left, felt like excitement and rightness, the others felt like sticks of wood, nothing more than dead branches with a feeble imitation of life. He did not voice his discomfort, though he did not doubt that Arcturus noticed. Ollivander, however, seemed oddly pleased to have found a challenge. The boxes he zoomed towards Harry had gotten older or downright stranger. After waving a 28-inch wand that already felt more like a staff, Ollivander looked thoughtfully at Harry and placed another box delicately on the counter. Inside, Harry found a handsome wand of some lighter wood. As he made to grab it, a slight sense of expectation that he had not felt since trying the other Black wands filled him. Half an inch before he would have placed his fingers on the wand, small red stars started to leak from the tip of the wood. Harry felt sudden excitement at this good sign and made to finally grab it, but at that exact moment, his other hand spun around.

Startled at this involuntary movement, he found himself looking down at his sphinx wand that for some reason had a bit of smoke circling around its tip and felt quite warm. Puzzled, he looked towards the other wand he was about to take hold of, only to find it cleanly snapped in the middle with some sort of broken feather visible in the middle. Sudden panic grabbed his heart, and when he looked up to asseverate his innocence, he found his grandfather wearing a slight frown and, to his huge surprise, a look of great delight on Ollivander's face. One moment later, he was not altogether sure whether he had only imagined this, as the wandmaker stated in a tone of pronounced dolour, 'I think, sir, it would be – ah – safest if you were to stick with your remarkable sphinx wand.'

 _~BLHD~_

The matter of foreign property and its accidental destruction did not come up for discussion that day, for which Harry felt grateful. True, he was slightly irked at what had happened, but it was not like he had ever intended to use another wand to begin with. His only regret was that in all the turmoil he had quite forgotten to voice his birthday wish and had only remembered once they were at home. After a small sigh, he put that matter to rest. While his gifts were not always very costly, his grandfather had an unprecedented knack for picking out exactly what he wanted. Never had he been truly disappointed with his gifts. Arcturus seemed deep in thought, and they shared a rather silent meal that evening. Harry did not mind, as the silence between him and his family was never heavy, but more of a respectful kind. He felt comfortable thinking about his own and that other wand, which his grandfather had later identified as 'probably holly'.

Deep in thought, he had not realised that his grandfather had been looking at him for several moments, which is why he reacted rather alarmed when Arcturus spoke.

'Harry, about your birthday – do you wish for me to invite our family?'

Harry fought hard to force his face not to show an expression of pain. His grandfather, however, looked slightly amused.

'Do not worry, Harry. I have already anticipated this and spread the word that you – ah – preferred private celebrations. Though I must say that one particular cousin of yours was most vexed.'

Harry winced slightly. He knew exactly which 'cousin' this was; of course he was not blood-related to any of this family, at least not too closely, but he never brought this up, and in turn, he was treated as one of their own. Even his close relatives, who reasonably might have held a grudge against him for usurping their inheritance, were in fact very friendly and protective of the up and coming Lord Black. Their adoration, however, always made him slightly uncomfortable. He simply did not like the attention. And _she_ was the worst. In a way. It's not like she was _bad_ , but she was just so excessively bold and possessive.

'I think I shall write to her that we will be able to see each other at Hogwarts. Maybe I can defuse the situation a bit.' Harry was not entirely sure if this was a good idea, but common courtesy made it a matter of necessity.

'That seems like a splendid idea, young man. From a tactical viewpoint, I also think you should avoid a big drama before your Sorting.' Arcturus chuckled slightly but soon settled his expression into a rather stern frown.

'Once you are comfortable, we shall adjourn to the study. For today's course, I have some rather important things to say.'

Harry nodded and began to wonder just what topic this might be.

 _~BLHD~_

'Sit down, Harry!' called the deep and soft-spoken voice of his adopted grandfather. Harry obliged, albeit slightly nervously so. This was one of their routines. Arcturus always challenged Harry to come up with questions pertaining to anything he could imagine and would always divulge answers in great detail. But, from then on, these subjects were part of the revision he would always put before the queries – and he would always be most displeased if Harry could not remember an acceptable portion.

'Do you recall our conversation about Grindelwald?'

He observed Harry shifting nervously in his chair, nodding eventually.

'Tell me about his fall,' Arcturus probed.

'Eh – Once the government forced Dumbledore into action, Grindelwald fell relatively fast, didn't he? In a matter of some years, at least. In the aftermath, our Ministry, along with several continental ministries, put down some reforms to better battle upcoming threats.'

'Quite,' returned Arcturus, seemingly content so far. 'What do you think denotes the term _Darkers_ , Harry?'

Harry grimaced, 'That's us, right? I mean that is what others call certain families.'

Arcturus brightened up a bit, even though the topic was indeed pretty dark. Harry's implication that he considered himself to be a Black was, even after all these years, still balm for a weary heart.

'Harry, you may not believe me, but that term is fairly common nowadays. You have only ever been in the company of those who arguably also fall prey to this indignation. I assure you, there will be those using it at Hogwarts, and they mean to hurt you.'

Arcturus elected to pause for a bit. Harry's sheltered upbringing may not have prepared him for what actually awaited him out there …

'Listen, Harry. _Darkers_ is a derogatory term stemming from the aftermath of Grindelwald's defeat. Most Muggle-borns and half-bloods were severely displeased with the notional financial and personal support many pure-bloods had allegedly offered the Dark Lord at the beginning of his campaign. Thus, the term was coined as a reprimand meant to exclude many old families from political businesses in the foreseeable future. Sadly, this stigma persists till present day.'

His adopted grandson looked thoughtful. 'So,' Harry said carefully, 'so you might say that we were set up? And that even today old families suffer because they were unjustly accused of supporting the Dark Lord?'

Arcturus hesitated ever so slightly but steeled himself for what he believed to be the only fair course of action. 'No. There were indeed some families that supported Grindelwald. But remember that while those were not nearly in the majority, the indignity of the term encompasses many families very much not guilty.'

He observed Harry's reaction. The boy seemed deep in thought, and it was obvious that the question was on his lips. But he held it in.

'Harry, I told you eight years ago that we would speak openly and plainly during these sessions. If you find my answer dissatisfactory, I urge you to voice your complaints.' After a brief pause, he added, 'We are family, Harry. No secrets, no lies.'

The boy's posture changed, and he looked in his eyes with deep appreciation. The question, however, seemed to pain him still. 'Were the Blacks involved in Grindelwald's support?'

Silence thundered for a few aching moments. Both were highly uncomfortable, though the boy allowed it to be more obvious.

'Yes. My father most foolishly wasted considerable financial assets in an attempt to gain influence over Grindelwald. As expected, however, Grindelwald recognised him for what he was and took all the money he would offer, while holding him at arm's length. In fact, since Grindelwald played his part so well, our family was – as it seems – the last of the British families to cut ties, long after our Ministry passed laws against these precise actions and not very long at all before the Dark Lord's fall.'

Harry looked dejectedly at his feet and muttered, 'Shameful.'

'Indeed.' His own admission managed to put a small smile back into place. Arcturus continued, keeping his voice dreary, 'Harry, this happened before I assumed headship over our house. My own father never had the courage to tell his son about these matters. In fact, I myself assumed them to be false accusations until I made extensive investigations. My father had many faults and few talents. To this day, I am not sure how I should feel about the fact that my own genitor would have been better off an artificer of fraud than a scion of a noble house.' Arcturus had difficulties holding in his temper. Even though he knew his expression remained calm he had the impression that Harry saw through his mask. The boy was unnaturally good at reading him. He would have been worried that a thirteen-year-old could read a retired politician so easily if he was not so _proud_.

'Listen, Harry. It was not my fault, and it is not yours that our ancestors may have done wrong. We have to live with this knowledge, and we should not forget. There are lessons to be learned in remembering the past. But you must not let your heart succumb to guilt. Guilty is only he who acts or fails to do so, though never can one be guilty by inheritance. You should think about this. In the future, you may even tell some of your friends who earn your complete trust. But you should not feel defensive about this or let your heart be tied down.'

After a small pause, he added, 'I know this is a difficult lesson, but it is critical you understand this. I know for a fact that only two other families had connections as deeply rooted as ours towards Grindelwald's camp; and still, there are about two dozen families suffering under the stigma that was levelled upon us. This is not justice. They are not guilty and neither are we now. My father should have been sent to trial for his actions, as should have been his counterparts, and I tell you this: If I had known these things during his lifetime, I would have been the first to make him stand before the Wizengamot, so that his sentence might have redeemed the rest of our family and a lot of other innocents of the public doubt. Alas – that man was not even fit for that final duty and died not too long after the war, as you are aware.'

It took Arcturus enormous effort to collect himself, but once he did, he looked his grandson in his startling green eyes and held his gaze for several seconds before he softly added, 'I apologise for this most sombre of lessons. Maybe we should continue this tomorrow. Have a good night, Harry.'

His grandfather still looked very unnerved, as Harry – deep in thought himself – stood up. It had indeed been a most sombre lesson. Even so, he did not blame Arcturus, whom he had always known as an individual of candour. Slowly striding forwards, he was almost at the first landing when the voice of his grandfather trailed after him. 'Harry!' he heard the old man calling him softly. He turned slowly towards the sunken figure and answered hesitantly, unsure what to expect, 'Yes, Grandfather?'

Arcturus looked at him, and Harry felt his gaze holding nothing of the stern blankness he always wore in public.

'I am proud of you for asking the difficult questions, son.'

Their eyes met, pearlescent grey and gleaming green. But to Harry, the only colour that mattered was of a darker shade.

* * *

 **AN:**

 _1) Hi there! I am not a big fan of ANs, so I will definitely try to keep this short. This is the first chapter of my new fiction "Black Luminary". I expect the finished work to encompass several hundred thousand words, but I will only post one chapter per week after the initial three. I am currently more than a dozen chapters ahead of schedule, so you may be put at ease; the project will not suddenly dry up._

 _2)_ _ **Warning:**_ _This story intentionally plays with the expectations of the reader. Usually, I will not give many hints about plotlines that may continue to be relevant for a LONG time. All years of Hogwarts are equally important for me; the whole story should therefore continue to evolve from the start to the end. Don't expect answers to questions I myself may raise in the story; I will_ never _use the ANs to give away the plot._

 _3) Romantic pairings ... will be complicated. Romance is not exactly the focus of this work, but I will give it due space where needed._

 _4) English isn't my first language, not even my second. So please do excuse the occasional error that may slip through._

 _5) While we are on the subject, a mighty thanks to my awesome and patient betas. Your work is very appreciated._

 _6) Of course, Harry Potter and all associated names, stories, works etc. belong to J.K. Rowling. Please support her official releases._

 _7) Also, please feel free to tell me what you think. Your suggestions and impressions will help me improve the story._

 _8) The things that makes my story an AU are mostly history-related. Everything else is just a direct or indirect result of those events. There is one exception, though: Harry's biological grandfather is Charlus Potter in my story. Just keep it in mind._

 _Best regards_  
 _-YakAge_


	2. HD: Of presents and vows

**Of presents and vows**

* * *

Harry awoke wearing an amused expression. The dream he had had was closer to a memory than imagination, but it was a dear, if slightly embarrassing, one. It was his recollection of the very first evening lesson he had ever had with Arcturus. He was somewhat ashamed in hindsight: the six-year-old Harry had been insecure and vulnerable; not to mention hasty and boisterous.

 _~BLHD~_

'Alright, Harry,' Arcturus had said, a kind expression on his face. 'I know this must be irritating to you, but I wish to get to know you better. As I know you must be having trouble coming to terms with all of this, I offer that you may ask whatever you wish. About me or my family, which, as it were, is now your family as well. So,' he finished lightly, 'ask away, young man.'

Harry had been very reluctant; all the recent changes to his life had left him quite irritated. 'Why do you always frown in public, Uncle Arcturus?'

To his great surprise, Arcturus had laughed softly. 'We do not wear our emotions on our sleeves in public, Harry. It is a show of great intimacy to be as open as we wish. This is mostly reserved for family and very close friends.'

'What is intimacy?' Harry had asked.

'Ah! Well, intimacy is the contentment you feel in a close relationship with your friends or family, for example.' Arcturus had smirked slightly. 'Among other things.'

Harry had not understood but had begun to comprehend that he could indeed ask whatever he wanted. While he did not really dislike this peculiar uncle of his (though he had been encouraged to call him grandfather) he was still slightly annoyed about this whole mess that was his childhood. Mostly to annoy his counterpart and to check out the boundaries set for him, he had tried to upset Arcturus.

'Why do you sometimes speak so strangely?'

'The art of words is the art of mankind, Harry.' That had been the altogether unsatisfactory answer he had received and not understood.

'What?'

'In broad terms, Harry, I mean talking is not only a means. It is as much art as it is war. It most certainly is a game if you want it to be.'

'A game?' Harry had wondered.

'Certainly. As an example, if I wanted to avoid your questions, I could easily answer you all day without lying, but still refrain from stating what you perceive as the truth.'

'That is so strange.' Harry had been beginning to feel a bit angry. These personal questions did not yield the expected result, so he had tried to be more aggressive with his approach to unnerving Arcturus.

'Why am I here?'

'Because I would like you to live with me.'

The simple and honest answer had caught him slightly off-guard and deflated his temper ever so slightly. 'Where is Sirius?'

For the first time, a pained expression had been clearly visible on Arcturus' face. 'He will be gone for a while. Do not worry, he will be back – in some years to come.'

'Yes, you said so, but where is he?' He had not wanted to yield so easily.

'On an island quite far from here. He will not be able to leave for quite some time.'

Even to Harry, it had been obvious that this train of thought would only bring pain to both of them, so he relented. After thinking for a while and reverting to his original plan of punishing the old man, though unsure for what exactly, he had had an idea.

'How old are you? You look ancient, old man.'

Arcturus' eyes had danced merrily. At that point, Harry somehow had gotten the idea that this feeble geezer must have been on to him. Impossible, right?

'Why, thank you, young man. I am 84 years of age.'

Since the old man had not risen to Harry's bait, he had tried to find a truly uncomfortable topic. Something to truly shatter his opponent's defences. His very young brain had come up with something that would have embarrassed himself very much. 'How many girls have you kissed?' he had demanded, sure of his triumph.

The old man had given a surprisingly hearty laugh. 'My very own wife Melania of course,' he added a slight pause, resuming shortly afterwards, looking smug and strangely lively, 'and some dozen more, I venture.'

Harry had looked in awe at the old man before him and had grudgingly conceded defeat. He had some honest questions anyway. 'Will I be able to learn magic? Will someone teach me? Is there something to read here? Where are we anyway? What is the name of that house elf who tries to be sneaky about eyeballing me, and why does he do that?'

Arcturus' smile had grown even more. But he had not immediately commented. As if remembering something, he had kept still for a moment, but shortly thereafter he had looked at Harry and started answering.

'Yes, you will most certainly be able to learn magic, Harry. You are as much a wizard as I am, and I see no reason why we should not start your education a bit early if you are truly interested. We will only be doing what I deem safe and worth knowing, though. Some things are better left till later and others better discussed at school, lest you spend some boring and cold years in Scotland. I shall, therefore, teach you maybe twice a week about magic. On the other hand, I would very much like to impart knowledge of a broader kind every other day of the week - if you find yourself agreeable?'

He had given him a questioning look that Harry had answered with a nod, keen on the opportunity to learn something more useful - finally.

'Very good. I think you might find this old man an adequate teacher. In your free time, you may also have a look at the library, though I would like to be present for the first few of those library sessions if you have an interest in such things. There are certain rules for you, for everyone of this household for that matter, to heed.'

Harry's eyes had shone brightly at the prospect of a private library. Though he had not expected much, he would at least have a good look.

Arcturus seemed to have read his thoughts again, as he then had added, 'I think you may find yourself not overly disappointed. I am told our library in total is the second most extensive private collection of magical tomes in Britain.'

Harry had realised that Arcturus seemed quite pleased about that as well. If the old man loved books, maybe this would not be so bad.

'As to your other questions, we are currently in London, Grimmauld Place. This is one of our more modest lodgings, though there may still be some places to explore for an adventurous young man and – I feel compelled to say – there will be some places to best stay away from, for now at least. And, as for your last question,' he had snapped his fingers and called in a sterner, louder voice, 'Cranky! Kreacher! Minnie!' To Harry's surprise, two nervous-looking house elves and one very old but calm house elf had popped up before them. He had suddenly remembered the blue eyes that shone with a strange sense of confidence for an elf.

'It's you!' He had jumped and pointed an accusatory finger at the old creature. 'You were snooping around my room.'

'Indeed Cranky has, sir. We are to take care of your wishes, sir, and Cranky was worried you may have trouble fitting in. Cranky did not wish to cause distress. It is not necessary for Master Harry to continue pointing his finger at old, sneaky Cranky.' With a smug look, the elf had added, 'Or to keep gawking at a poor old elf.'

Harry had shot a bewildered look at Arcturus after closing his mouth. He had had some experience with house elves of course, yet the casual attitude of this one seemed somewhat distressing to him.

Arcturus had grinned slightly and explained, 'Ah yes, Cranky may be one of a kind. But you may rest assured; he does as he is told. And I do not think I have ever had reason to complain about his work.'

Cranky had turned towards Arcturus, his smug look still in place. The other elves, on the other hand, had seemed unable to settle on either reverence or outrage, but this had not deterred Cranky.

'Master is too kind. If only Cranky could truthfully return the compliment, he would gladly do so. Sadly, Cranky seems to remember the episodes of youthful trouble good Master Arcturus always so abundantly seemed to find himself in when he was younger.'

For the first time, the expression of benign serenity had broken on Arcturus' face, and Harry had immediately decided that he rather liked this old elf. Or at least would not like the consequences of failing to befriend him.

 _~BLHD~_

Still chuckling about those days, Harry got up and started dressing casually, or at least what passed for casually in the Black household. While his cousins often complained (and some even preferred Muggle attire), he himself did not mind in the slightest. There was simple finesse in these things and much more than met the eye at first glance. He deeply appreciated the austere look. One of his cousins – _she_ – had once asked him why he always dressed as if he had some kind of formal meeting. He had only shrugged and tried to explain that he preferred the seemingly modest style of robes to muggle clothing. Hinting always won over swanking in his books.

Once Harry was dressed, Cranky opened the door and presented himself with a low bow. 'Master Harry looks very spiffing today. May Cranky offer his congratulations?'

'Thanks, Cranky.' Harry smiled. He had never once met a house elf odder than Cranky. He was fiercely independent, yet loyal to the extreme. This was made _very_ clear to Harry when he had seen Cranky get into a shouting match with a guest of the house a few years ago. That person had somehow offended the family in Cranky's eyes, and the elf did not relent until a slightly amused Arcturus had made him escort the guest to the door. That person, some Bullstrode if Harry remembered correctly, was completely baffled that an elf had the nerve to shout down a wizard and even to threaten him, but was perhaps even more offended that Arcturus had actually chosen to believe the elf over his own words.

Vaguely, he remembered that one of his first orders to Cranky had been to smuggle some protected books out of the library for him when he was six. To this day, Cranky somehow had evaded answering Arcturus' questions regarding his complicity in these events.

Harry made his way down the stairs and was pleased that most portraits of the household seemed eager to offer their felicitations to their young scion. Some of them had initially been rather reluctant to treat him as family but – over time – had come around. It would have been very hard to find a child his age that was more interested in old wizarding customs and family history anyway. There was not a single portrait in the house of which Harry could not rave about for at least half an hour.

He entered the small dining room and found it empty. Perplexed, he turned around and found Cranky pointing in the direction of the official dining hall, which could easily seat 40 people. Slightly nervous, he made his way towards the heavily decorated door and slowly turned the knob. The room was flooded with light and the long table was thankfully only set for two. At least two dozen parcels and cards floated a few inches above the heavy wooden piece of art. He slowly made his way towards the table, very much aware how his shoes echoed on the parquet. With a gentle smile, he beheld the mass of well-wishes and gifts. He took the card that was attached to the biggest parcel, which was about five feet tall, and recognised an altogether too familiar handwriting:

'Happy birthday, Harry. I'm slightly miffed that you want to have "quiet celebrations" away from your dear family and me, but I shall settle for taking up all your time at Hogwarts and inviting you over for two weeks next summer when you shall have the _honour_ of celebrating mine. And don't you dare shut yourself away all the time to snuggle with your wand again. Thus, I shall graciously await your affirmation, and don't even think to be smart with me, dearest cousin of mine. Uncle Arcturus knows and has, after some very kind persuasion from me, reassured me that nothing is or will be planned at that time for you. See you at Hogwarts. Much love – D.'

Involuntarily, Harry grinned. _Why does she still call him Uncle Arcturus after all those years?_

He had not heard Arcturus enter the room, but as he finished reading, he found his grandfather standing beside him. 'She is indeed very persuasive. I fear you may have no chance to evade her next summer, Harry. I had the distinct impression she and her sister may try to hex me, were I to refuse letting you go.'

Harry looked dejected, but could not quite disagree that this was a definite possibility. His grandfather, however, embraced Harry and ruffled his hair in a rare show of open affection.

'Happy fourteenth birthday, Harry. I hope you will have a good day. But before you have to open the probably slightly embarrassing presents your family has bestowed upon you, how about we sit down and have a look what Cranky has cooked up for you this morning? I know for a fact that he had Kreacher and Minnie working till late last night so that everything would be to your utmost satisfaction. I would be very much surprised if you miss out on even one of your favourites today.'

Cranky, who was hovering by the door, looked slightly cross. 'There is no way that Cranky missed any of Master Harry's favourite dishes today, Master Arcturus. Cranky has taken the utmost care to study Master Harry's eating habits. And in fact, Master Arcturus, Cranky had Kreacher working till one hour ago, until Kreacher had finally finished the cakes in a _presentable_ manner, for once.'

Harry shuddered slightly and was very happy not to be a house elf under Cranky's iron regime, but smiled guiltily at the old elf nonetheless. Cranky bowed deeply and smirked back.

Breakfast was a feast, for eyes and stomach. Seldom had he been so impressed, not only with the dishes themselves but even more so with their presentation. That being said, he was not exactly surprised; Cranky doted on him very much indeed. His grandfather wore a look of amused distress as Minnie popped into being behind his grandson, obviously instructed to take care of whatever wish he had. Harry was entertained himself; his cup did not contain the usual pumpkin juice but as spiked with butterbeer.

After their ample repast, Harry started opening his presents. To his deep embarrassment, he found the large package of _hers_ containing a four-and-a-half foot tall picture of himself with _her_ and her sister. Even his counterpart seemed eager to escape the frame, but the sisters were all too happy to hold him very close indeed. His grandfather smiled but did, thank Merlin, not comment. Apart from the big picture, which Arcturus shrank into a more presentable yet still intimidating size, he received several books that he inspected at once with glowing enthusiasm: a classy silver pocket watch adorned with emeralds; an elegant red quill, which Harry disbelievingly identified as a phoenix feather; a small automatically refilling workstation to mix your own ink colour; and, for some inexplicable reason, a very large and very deadly looking bushwhacker.

'Ah! Have a look, Master Harry! Someone seems to have picked up on your problems with the other sex,' offered Cranky. Harry flinched and shot a pleading look at the elf, who smiled and took the cutlass. 'Maybe Cranky shall rather put this away safely? Maybe on a weapon plaque in Master Harry's bedroom?'

'That would be much appreciated. Thank you, Cranky.'

The elf nodded eagerly, took the blade and disapparated. Arcturus shook his head and read the card that came with this most unusual of presents.

'It seems the Lestrange family is rather worried about your safety at Hogwarts. They claim to have personally tested the blade on wild griffins. If only I could not believe that. Their sense of humour is nearly as nasty as Cranky's. Nevertheless, a suspiciously good haul, if you may permit me to say so? While the fob watch and the quill seem obvious choices, you might not guess that the ink set is actually one of the most expensive gifts you have received yet.' He sniffed slightly at some colours and swiftly shut the case again. 'Some of those are very rare and several highly magical. Most can be used to draw permanent runes. There are not many people up to enchanting these things, and you should remember to thank your aunt most amicably for this thoughtful present.'

'I will,' returned Harry with a nod and put his gifts away reverently (even the huge picture, though he treated that one with visible trepidation). Afterwards, his grandfather waited for him to settle down and, once he had done so, presented him three other gifts: one of big, one of small, and one of tiny proportions. Harry looked eagerly into his grandfather's eyes, who nodded serenely. To Arcturus' amusement, Harry started with the parcel in the middle. Once unpacked, a book came into view. Master Nentray's _Complete Guide to Barriers and Wardings,_ only this copy seemed to be much smaller and only contain a hundred pages. But once he had opened it, he found all twelve thousand pages present, though only the next few dozen in either direction were ever visible. The first blank page sported another note in the neat, cursive handwriting of his grandfather:

'We shall not yield to the ignorance of man. In loving gratitude, Arcturus Black III for his grandson Harry. London, 31. July 1994.'

Harry gawped at the devotement and opened his mouth, only to close it several moments later. Some time passed before he finally turned towards his grandfather and muttered softly, 'Thank you...'

'It was my pleasure, Harry. But do keep it safe! As I told you, the original you have found upstairs is a unique. Now, I doubt Nentray will complain that we doubled the number of his published works, but it would not be a very good idea to flaunt it. While it is charmed to only be readable by our family, you should take great care. Others, especially some teachers at Hogwarts, may find certain passages of this book … distasteful. I would not wish your present confiscated.'

It was obvious, however, that Harry would not let this thing out of his sight more often than strictly necessary. Arcturus seemed very pleased with the visible effusiveness his gift had elicited in Harry and continued in his gentle and low voice, 'I have also indexed most subjects and topics inside the book with Cranky's help. I cannot help but wonder how many wizards are less able than him. You should certainly strive to be your best, as to not disappoint Cranky.' He added good-naturedly, 'I doubt he would ever let it rest if he thought he knew more magic than you. But how about you open the bigger parcel. I think you will like it very much, and it may even compliment Nentray.'

Unlikely conjectures cavorting in his head, Harry looked at the bigger parcel with reverence. Slowly and very carefully, he unwrapped the hardcover of F _orgotten Masters at Charmswork: Waldufin, Chzem, Nentray and many more_.

Harry stared at the imposing book for three full seconds. 'What...How?'

'I had an associate of mine buy it for me anonymously yesterday evening. I felt it would be better, in the interest of keeping your inheritance intact, if it were bought by someone with a different name, as the shopkeeper did not seem very complaisant towards Blacks. I spotted you sneaking a glance, of course. You seemed to have taken an interest.'

'Yes, I have taken an interest, alright. Incredible! Thank you so much!'

Arcturus could see that Harry wished nothing more than to have good look at his new acquisition in the library. So as to not torture him any longer, he indicated the smallest package. 'Have a look at your last parcel, then. It is nothing grand, but I think you may appreciate it for what it is.'

Wordlessly, Harry unfolded the last package and soon held in his hands a small inconspicuous silver chain that held an equally unimposing, ancient-looking emerald signet ring which displayed the Black coat of arms. He knew these rings were only to be given to the legal heir of a noble house and never to outsiders, not even for safekeeping. In fact, only he and Arcturus now held signet rings of House Black. And while this present may have been the least costly, it was easily his dearest.

'Thank you,' he muttered feebly, all too aware that his eyes were becoming somewhat moist.

Arcturus stood up and embraced him yet again, as – for once – words seemed unnecessary right now.

 _~BLHD~_

Harry spent most of his day in the library, marvelling at his new treasures. True to his word, Nentray's magnum opus was now charmed to instantly flip to the page of a given subject. Or even highlight the relevant pages with a temporary marker, in case there were several. This was highly convenient, as searching for a subject in the ponderous tome could otherwise take hours, if not days. Most of the time, however, Harry had spent reading his new book of forgotten charms masters. Even better than he had originally thought, the book not only made a study of unearthing long-lost authors and descriptions of their achievements, it even tried to recreate some of the forgotten research and listed all relevant books that may either help to decipher this old lore, or may possibly have been used by those old warlocks themselves. Harry had excitedly skimmed through Nentray's chapter and was delighted to find that the author had managed to replicate a very respectable amount of experiments and charms that were believed to be lost. How the author, a certain Professor Mandus, had managed this, when he himself had stated that Nentray's works had disappeared, was beyond Harry. In a sudden fit of suspicion, he had even searched for Mandus and his wife on the Black family tapestry, but was relieved when he did not find them there.

He dared not think about the price his grandfather had undoubtedly paid for this work of a genius, but – in all honesty – he could not imagine money better spent. After making sure Mandus had not been a fraud, he had insisted that Cranky put a preservation charm on every page of the book and the cover. The elf had happily obliged and advised Harry to take the time to answer his birthday cards, as he resolutely refused to tolerate owls in the library.

Later, it took Cranky coming personally to take Harry to dinner, as Minny had been very depressed and returned to the kitchens in tears to report that she could not get his attention. Harry was in a most excellent mood, and Arcturus was visibly enjoying himself as well. Dinner was simply fabulous, and for once even Cranky took their compliments without further comment. Once their plates had vanished, the Blacks adjourned to the lounge. And while they would not hold their usual classes tonight, there was nevertheless much to discuss. After Harry had happily described the genius of Mandus and even his suspicions to Arcturus, the old man laughed knowingly.

'I know of this man, Harry. Otherwise, I would not have paid the price for that tome of yours. That man was a fanatic in the truest sense of the word. As far as I gathered, he collected snippets of parchment and paid horrendous sums for even scraps of school works of his research subjects. His family was not very grateful, however, as he spent most of his family fortune for his private research. But it must be said that he achieved much indeed. Though, as is often the case with such driven men, he had a rather peculiar personality, and as if to honour his own profession, he only ever created five copies of his own research. One for his family, two for sale and another two in private ownership. One is since lost and you just secured another one. The Mandus family is all but gone today, and I know nothing of the other exemplars. You should also take note that Mandus, in his quirky sense of humour, enchanted his works to not only be unenchantable but also placed certain runes in the script so that it is not even possible to transcribe them by hand. They are truly one-of-a-kind.'

Harry smiled, unperturbed. Somehow he was able to understand the author. If something was to be truly cherished, it should not be mass produced.

'You know, Harry, I am curious. You know of Hogwarts' houses. Do you have any preferences or aversions? Please indulge this old man.'

Harry chuckled somewhat embarrassedly. Arcturus only brought up 'old man' as a playful barb and reminder of Harry's spiteful beginnings in good mood and light conversations.

'In all honesty, Grandfather, I somehow cannot help but feel that people put too much emphasis on the whole matter of houses. Surely, there is some truth to be found there; but on the other hand, people obviously believe that once you are sorted you may never change again. The ridiculous prejudices that have spawned around the houses do not help the matter.'

'Indeed, Harry, I do agree with you. But the question still stands, as the procedure is unlikely to change until next month, so you may have to endure the indignity of being judged for six or possibly seven years in an instant.'

'Well,' Harry replied cautiously, 'I think I could contentedly live with three choices and be abysmally disappointed with the other.'

'I suppose you would not wish to be in Slytherin then, Harry?'

'What? No! I think I would even prefer to be sorted there. I have thought about this, Grandfather, and I have come to the conclusion that I will be ostracised no matter where I will be sorted. The rancour may be the most bitter, should I find myself in the House of Slytherin, but if I plan to ever overturn this bias, I think victory will also be the sweetest there. As for the other houses, there does appear to be nothing wrong with Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. Only Ravenclaw seems worthless to me. Knowledge for its own sake just feels a bit lacking. Enlightenment is not a bad thing, but I have too many urgent problems to sit on a mountain of wisdom and be content with my own cleverness. Also, I somewhat doubt there will be many people willing to associate with me in Ravenclaw if they feel their academical achievements may suffer as a result.'

Arcturus listened closely as it was quite rare for his grandson to casually divulge much of his thoughts. Eventually, he smiled sadly and tried to offer Harry a piece of wisdom.

'That is a most laudable course of action, Harry. But you do remember that this is not your burden alone to bear? There are others who will have to shoulder the preconceptions that society has seen fit to lay on us. I do not wish to frighten you – truly – but you should know that there will maybe even be some within Slytherin who will not be amendable in their ways, even towards a Black. For some, blood is everything. And while those may hate you for their own reasons, I fear others outside your common room would see nothing but the young scion of the darkest of noble houses.'

Harry's jaw was set and a rare sense of determination shone from his eyes. Even though Harry held few beliefs and found near everything a matter of discussion, perception or perspective, he held this one firm conviction not to suffer punishment for this family that had taken him as their son and for which he felt nothing but gratitude and love.

'Let them. I swear to you, I will engrave the Black crest on my robes, and if my classmates do not accept me for who I am, I, in turn, will reject the lot of them!'

Arcturus looked at Harry with wide eyes and no small measure of pride. He did, however, not wish to hold a discussion so serious and bleak on his cherished grandson's birthday, so he made an easy attempt to lighten the mood. 'I do not think your dear cousin will let you make a lonely stand in any case. I would be very surprised if you managed to keep her at bay. Even with Black coat of arms and public displays of truly vile magic _.'_

Harry instantly assumed a facial expression of severe physical pain, though his eyes held none of it.

'Yes, I guess that may be true. But it's not likely I'll ever use that stuff at school. You know why I studied the family magic...'

Arcturus smiled inwardly. It was true that those skills that were publicly coined the Dark Arts were not inherently more evil than most other forms of magic. A _severing charm_ was no dark magic but was still one of the nastiest forms of magic children learned early on. Blood magic, by stark contrast, was truly not very pretty, but offered (contrary to its infamy and legal status) many benevolent magics such as warding spells and shields, even healing. The root of the problem lay elsewhere, as Harry had implied. The true Dark Arts were only learned and taught in certain families, and all of them in Britain _Darkers_ , though not every family suffering the stigma knew of those arts. Most other families knew next to nothing about them and held all manners of preconceptions. But if one heir, for whatever reason, refused to learn those skills only passed down through the generations, he would inevitably condemn this knowledge to be lost. And for all his disdainful talk about knowledge 'for knowledge's sake', Arcturus knew that his grandson would never suffer the indignity of dooming such lore to oblivion. As remarkable as Harry was to Arcturus' eyes, he was a true enigma. Contradiction personified.

'Grandfather, I have something for you. I would like you to know that I very much enjoyed your presents today, and I, in turn, have something I wish to impart.'

The formal tone struck Arcturus as foreboding. He had truly no idea what Harry meant. He gestured for him to continue, but not before speaking his mind. 'Harry, you need not give me anything, I assure you, I have been given enough gifts for the both of us in my life. And you owe me nothing, neither back then nor now. We are family, Harry. I truly wish for you to be able to accept some heartfelt tokens of our esteem for you.'

He had laid it on pretty thick, but the ways of a politician died slowly – and in any case, he meant every word. He felt an incredible sense of gratitude for the chance to raise another child. The direct lines of Blacks had nearly died out, even his first grandchildren had been taken by them... Never had he hoped to find Harry so open-minded and fair in his judgement; it was truly more than this family could have wished for. And to their astonished delight, Harry had relatively quickly begun to deeply embrace their ways and, apart from himself, he very much doubted anyone today was as much a Black as this adopted grandson of his.

To his surprise, Harry procured a very heavy-looking envelope that hinted at official documents.

Frowning and not altogether sure what this crafty grandson of his had come up with, he slowly took the thick parchment and looked into Harry's eyes. There, however, he found nothing but warmness, gratitude and adoration. With a lurch in his stomach, Arcturus slowly opened the letter.

' _I, Harry Potter, heir apparent to the ancient House Potter, hereby declare my irrevocable determination to renounce all claims to the heritage and name of House Potter for myself and all my descendants..._ '

The official document that was graced by the Potter coat of arms continued in a distinctively formal way and was subscribed by four witnesses, one of which was, to Arcturus' immense incredulity, the Minister for Magic himself.

It took a while for Arcturus to comprehend what he had read, and immediately, he reread the whole thing, just to be sure. As with the first time, however, he found the document completely ironclad. With a pang of guilt, he turned to his grandson.

'You did not have to do this, Harry. Do you even realise the magnitude of this document? You are not even allowed to wield your birth name anymore.'

To his astonishment, defiance and pride erupted in Harry's eyes like fire over a volcano. 'I know of this full well, old man. Do not take me for the child I used to be.'

The harsh tone surprised Arcturus even more, but he chose to let it go, looking at his grandson in silent wonderment.

'This document legally integrates me fully into the Black family. As a direct result of my abdication, I am no longer merely your _adopted_ grandson or ward with a Potter background – just a Black. There is no further conflict of interest, no further doubt anyone can ever raise. I do not need a secondary family; this one is the only one I want. I spit on the prejudice! I cannot wait to look at the faces of all those at Hogwarts that will think me shamed by my upbringing.'

Harry seemed to collect himself before he added in a softer tone, 'You yourself said we are family, and I could not agree more. This,' he pulled forth his new signet ring that hung from his neck, 'is everything I want and need.'

Arcturus could not have looked more overcome with emotion as he said in a slow voice that seemed to try to make sense of the world, as he was wont to do, 'Ollivander. He refused to address you as Potter in my presence.'

Harry nodded and offered a small smile. 'At that time, this was already signed and the ink dry. Merlin knows how he came to know. I don't think you would understand how paranoid I was about you finding out. Anyway, Black it is from now on.'

Harry looked into his grandfather's eyes and was quite distressed to see them full of tears for the first time in close to nine years. Yet, as he stood up and walked towards his family, he could not help but feel very content that, this first time, he had been given the opportunity to repay them all a small bit of their goodwill.

 _ **AN**_ _: For those who are already protesting; yes, there is a reason why he doesn't keep both names, combines them into a new house or whatever fancies your imagination. Chapter 8 and 18 will make it clear why such an act, not even considering its feasibility, would not be in Harry's interest._


	3. HD: Shown and hidden

**Shown and hidden**

* * *

The direct aftermath of his abdication had been slightly embarrassing, but Harry and Arcturus were in high spirits for days. How proud Arcturus really must have been, Harry only realised when his grandfather had told him that some of his associates and the Malfoys had asked why he was so spirited these days. While the Malfoys were (to an extent) family, and Arcturus trusted Narcissa implicitly, he nevertheless held reservations about Lucius. The slight mishap of being too open had to be explained away. Arcturus had also gathered that some parts of the family had to have been in on Harry's plan, as it would have been impossible to garner the attention of the Minister with such a matter otherwise.

'Now at least I comprehend why you were practically showered in presents this year, Harry. Not that I doubt how much they all adore their little prince, but to practically deluge you with gifts worth thousands of galleons seems a bit out of the ordinary, even for them.'

Harry shifted nervously in his chair, not willing to try and play his grandfather. 'Yeah, they were most pleased, as you may imagine. I don't think I have ever seen Auntie Bella break down in happiness before.'

Arcturus let out an involuntary grunt and hastily set his cup back down on the saucer. 'Indeed, neither have I for that matter. Truly, it must have been a memorable occasion. Though, to be completely honest with you, I am somewhat glad to have missed it. I doubt I could have seen her in the same light thereafter.'

Harry would not have been able to suppress his laughter, so he made no attempt. 'Yeah, the memory seems somewhat irreconcilable with her. I do appreciate the black touch of her humour, but – in all honesty – she can be a bit scary. Like that machete? Any possible doubts about the "offensive value of the blade" I might have had have been kindly put to rest. Which is why I am even more impressed that Amy was audacious enough to take a picture of her crying mother in an attempt to blackmail her later.'

'Amadina did that?' Arcturus lifted an eyebrow, and Harry thought he saw a glint of grudging respect. 'Well, let us hope she is equally quick on her feet as she was with her camera then.'

 _~BLHD~_

The rest of August flew by. Harry was keen to get as much out of the library as he was allowed to. Though he was sure that Hogwarts had an even more magnificent collection of ancient texts, he had known for some time that most of the more interesting and controversial texts were kept in a restricted section. While his grandfather was, most unusually, away for business, Cranky respectfully opened the door to the library and slouched towards Harry. It was quite rare to see the old elf hold a demeanour other than casual elegance, however strange that was for an elf. Therefore, he immediately put his studies out of his mind and turned towards the small creature. Cranky seemed relieved that he did not have to disturb his work and immediately began to gush, his voice laced with sombre regret.

'Cranky is sorry, Master Harry. Cranky must bring grave tidings indeed.'

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. Surely nothing had happened to Arcturus? Or anyone else of their family? 'What is it, Cranky?' he croaked feebly.

'Master Arcturus has given all elves explicit commands to not be complicit in any kind of smuggling of Black family books or their contents to you or anyone else while you stay in Hogwarts. Cranky has been thinking about his orders for two days now, but – most vexingly – it seems the instructions left no direct loophole to exploit this time.'

The only reason Harry mastered his urge to laugh was that he was indeed rather annoyed with this turn of events. Most intriguing, however, the elf seemed to rearrange his look of honest dismay into a look of mischievous playfulness before too long. Harry had seen this look often enough to know that Cranky knew something he did not. Cranky would always help Harry however possible but – strangely enough – would sometimes refrain from acting unless given specific commands. The young man had often reflected on this and had come to the bizarre conclusion that this was Cranky's sarcastic way of dealing with his enslavement: if his master was unworthy of his help, he would do no more than strictly necessary.

Harry thought about Arcturus' instructions to the elves. He knew that Cranky had repeated them in a way that summarised them to his benefit, so the answer had to be in there somehow...

A sudden look of gleeful triumph overcame his face, and he turned to Cranky, his eyes twinkling an equal dance of foolhardiness. 'Say, Cranky, would it be possible for you, Minnie and Kreacher to help me copy some books for the benefit of my personal studies at Hogwarts _right now_?'

The old elf gave a nasty cackle and answered promptly, 'How curious Master Harry should mention this. For some strange reason all kitchen work has been done early, and Minnie and Kreacher have nothing to do at all until Master Arcturus returns.'

No sooner had he spoken than the other two elves popped into the library, both visibly more uncomfortable with their assignment than Cranky. Harry felt equally happy with overcoming the challenge and with the prospect of a few dozen objects of personal study, and immediately set the elves and himself to work, but only after he had given them instructions to never speak of this ever again. He knew there were ways to circumvent these particular commands, but Kreacher and Minnie were not quite as bold as Cranky, who relished in his subtle victories over Arcturus and would gladly keep this from his ultimate master.

In their four hours of time, Harry was completely amazed at the extent of magic the house elves were capable of once they were set to a task. While many of the more magical books had to be copied page by page, Minnie and Kreacher rose to the task with a speed that was probably superior to the average wizard's. Cranky, on the other hand, was like a small ball of magic and, to Harry's astonishment, was able to cast the _Geminio_ charm with both hands simultaneously and at blurring speed. Even the other elves looked slightly alarmed by this extreme showing. Cranky, however, once he noted Harry's incredulous looks, just smirked as he usually did on such occasions. The moment Arcturus' footsteps echoed in the entrance hall, both Minnie and Kreacher disapparated, and Cranky immediately snapped his fingers, and the respectable heap of books at their feet disappeared, presumably under Harry's bed. Harry was still giving Cranky looks of deep interest and could not refrain from asking.

'Cranky, how much magic do you know, anyway?'

To his unexpected discomfort, Cranky slowly turned towards him and looked him straight in the eyes for several seconds, while his demeanour was devoid of his usual pretence of servility. 'Some, Master Harry. Likely some more than most and most definitely more than you. At least for the time being. There may be hope for you yet, Master Harry.'

Cranky's voice had a steely undercurrent, and Harry was not sure it would be wise to continue this particular line of questioning, but he was intrigued. So he tried to settle for a compromise. 'Cranky, I do not mean to pry, but do you think it would be agreeable for you to – eh – disclose some of your abilities at any point in the future?' Harry nervously watched the elf formulate a measured response.

'It could indeed come to pass that Cranky has to unbosom some of what he knows, though Cranky is not sure Master Harry would like that all too much.'

Harry raised an eyebrow and wondered if he had just been threatened by his own house elf. It was not completely beyond what he could imagine. And while every other elf he had known had never tried to go against their master's orders, this one seemed to take a very casual approach to his enslavement indeed. Cranky's loyalty to the house was beyond questioning, but then again, his approach to personal allegiance appeared very loose by comparison. Harry decided to play it safe, as Cranky had never given him any reason to doubt before. While he figured there must be more to this, the old elf had been a fiercely loyal friend for more than eight years, and he did not wish to force the issue.

'I feel like I have offended, Cranky, sorry. I will not speak of this again.'

'Master Harry may put the matter out of his mind. Cranky will not think anything of it.' The elf seemed placated as well. The small frown on his face slowly returned to his accustomed grimace of mischief. 'Cranky shall leave Master Harry for now. Cranky will have to place some protections on Master Harry's new collection at some time – just to be safe!'

After a small pause, his grimace became even more pronounced, and Harry had the strange impression that something like defiance shone from his eyes, though his tone was again very respectful.

'By the by, Cranky has wondered if Master Harry has said his appropriate farewells yet to the noble ancestors of House Black. As far as he knows, there are only two portraits of Blacks in Hogwarts, and the other company may prove to be very dull.'

Cranky's eyes shone again with that foreboding grin that left Harry pondering. If his assessment of elf's character was not very far off, it seemed that he had just given him some kind of hint as a token of goodwill...

 _~BLHD~_

Harry had decided not to ask Arcturus about the whole matter of elven magic. Somehow he did not feel like Cranky would appreciate this very much. For some inexplicable reason, the elf seemed to have revealed more than was necessary. Harry would have to be careful not to betray this trust. Yet he was intrigued, without a doubt. His interest had taken another fierce upturn when Cranky had come to him in a quiet moment and revealed that he had cast 'some protection' on Harry's books. He made it clear that he would consider it a failing in his duty if those books fell into the hands of someone not a Black. While Harry was pleased, he could not help his thoughts from straying again. Usually, he was highly sensitive to magic, much more so than even his grandfather knew. He would often wake at night when he felt a comfortable tingle in the air, which he had in time come to realise was Arcturus at work or study. By now he could differentiate subtle patterns or 'scents' in the air which identified the wielder – or even their family – granted he recognised it.

The night Cranky had allegedly cast his protections, however, Harry had felt nothing – absolutely nothing at all. He was paranoid enough to check if he had been dosed with Sleeping Draught or charmed in any way, but found no traces at all, even after extensive testing. He knew his trunk had not been moved, as he had spent at least three years stacking ward upon ward on his hoard. Arcturus knew how ferociously he guarded his treasures, so he had felt no reason to hold back. The wards had become increasingly more hostile over time; the current state of its protection made him feel quite safe indeed. As he had examined his own work, he had come to the conclusion that the wards were all intact, and – as far as he could tell – had not been disturbed at all. He also recognised his own style of weaving, so there was little doubt on the matter. To his utter amazement, however, all recently copied books that had been stored _inside his shut trunk_ had been layered with several powerful wards and enchantments. Some to prevent removal by anyone not of Black descent, others to discourage copying and, lastly, there seemed to be something Harry failed to place, to his complete astonishment.

Harry did consider himself reasonably knowledgeable in matters of wards nowadays and had only resorted to pilfering the more dangerous parts of the library because all conventional texts on the matter had been exhausted. After hours of testing, though he did not dare directly disturb the weaving, he felt reasonably sure that all the books had been enchanted to vanish after a specific time or maybe under certain conditions. None of the enchantments seemed permanent, except the last, which only gave him more reasons to goggle at the books, feeling like a five-year-old all over again. All research he had done till now indicated that warding not only got more intricate with the number of layers of protection on an item (he was fully aware of _that_ thanks to his trunk project) but especially if some sort of semi-permanency or actual permanency was involved through bare weaving. _Chzem_ had originally focused on the aspect of permanency in the art of warding. Sadly, his ravings were so diffuse that Harry had not yet managed to absorb them. But it was made painfully clear to him that even a single layer of permanent wards or enchantments achieved through bare weaving would immediately qualify for a Master in charms and most Masters never even got there.

During his examination, he had felt Cranky's eyes on him but had managed to refrain from turning around. He knew this was another gesture and likely another test from the wily old creature, and he was bent on solving this himself. Once he was satisfied with his understanding – for the time being – he finally gave a solemn nod to the elf to let him know he accepted the challenge, though he himself was actually not sure what that might encompass. Cranky seemed satisfied enough and disapparated with only the slightest of smirks.

 _If he really cast the wards himself, I will be hard-pressed to solve this particular mystery in the next few years. Do all elves know that much magic? But Kreacher and Minnie seemed just as much in awe at his display in the library..._

Harry had also made an effort to crack the hint about the portraits. He would have spent time with them in any case, so he did not consider this to be work. The stories some portraits were only too willing to divulge to an eager listener were a source of great blithesomeness for him. None of them seemed to be able to help him though, or maybe he asked the wrong questions. Of elven magic, charms or wards they knew nothing more than Harry was aware of. None of them had heard of a second Black at Hogwarts. Even Phineas Niggelus, whom he knew to pick up all manner of strange things at Hogwarts, could not really help in the matter at hand, though he was most eager to try. Sadly, most portraits outside of Hogwarts or the Ministry had some restrictions on their recollections in any case. Even though they were less than shadow and ghost in substance, they had enough personality to chat – true – but they could theorise as well about magic as Uncle Marius. Probably significantly worse, amended Harry, seeing as his Squib uncle (whom they usually didn't talk about) was at least familiar with some concepts of magic. He had had a look at the enchantments needed to create such portraits in an effort to understand Cranky's hint, but soon closed the relevant book, his face green. _Who would go to such lengths...?_

He was specifically affronted by his own lack of knowledge; he had grown up thinking Phineas was the only headmaster of Black descent ever to grace Hogwarts, after all. There were precious few portraits of Blacks outside their estates, and he was surprised there was one he did not know about. Harry was very proud of his knowledge about the family; not everyone could recreate his family tree at least 350 years in his head without a second thought, after all. _Of course_ , he knew every portrait in their estates by name and history. The identity of this mysterious second Black tortured him to no end.

 _~BLHD~_

All in all, he was completely stuck, and this grated on his nerves, as he was not used to losing in matters of intellect. He was pretty sure Arcturus could still trick him any day, but Harry had come to realise that, while Arcturus was a particularly powerful and knowledgeable wizard, his true genius lay in socialising. And while he might yet hope to eventually reach his magical heights, he did no longer hold to the illusion he would ever be as good with people as his grandfather. Unexpectedly, Arcturus seemed to have noticed how something was preoccupying Harry's mind, but he did not comment for many days. Their last lesson before he would leave for Hogwarts had been rather short. Harry knew that his grandfather had many things on his mind. Their relationship had become even closer in the last month, and Harry knew that, though both of them often complained how overprotective their relatives were, Arcturus was at least as worried as the rest of them combined. Harry would never mention this, of course. He knew how hard the loss of practically a whole generation of his family had hit the man and, for all his obvious show of integrating Harry as a Black, he knew a man could never forget his first grandchildren so easily. Thus he was not exactly surprised by the subject of their following discussion.

'Harry, I would like to establish certain rules for your stay at Hogwarts. I know you to be a young man of good judgement, but I would wish for you to heed my wishes in this matter.'

Guilt crept like heat through his guts, and he knew he would never be able to deny whatever request followed now. His face must have shown his discomfort, as Arcturus hastily returned a consoling smile.

'Not to worry, Harry. I did not mean this in reference to past deeds. My line of thinking was about your remarkable acts of determination you allow yourself to be wrapped up in now and then. I think you may find the contents of my restrictions bearable.'

Harry relaxed slightly, though he still felt quite hot and uncomfortable. 'What is it?'

'I would like you to treat your entire stay at Hogwarts as a matter of House Black for the time being. I am sure we understand one another.'

The young heir did indeed understand. In short, he would have to set personal struggles aside for the most part and act on the behalf of House Black. In extreme cases, he might be able to circumvent this rule, but he would have to be careful with his methods. It was a small thing, however; he had always anticipated this. What came next left him slightly perplexed by contrast.

'I would also like you to keep up your Occlumency while in the castle. Especially during lessons, in the Great Hall, and all your public dealings when you are not exclusively in the company of those you consider friends.'

Harry frowned slightly. Arcturus always put a great deal of thought behind every word he said. What many would not have gathered from his little speech was how this effectively meant that Harry would not drop his Occlumency for at least many months to come in the company of anyone but his cousin. Being a 'friend' to a noble House was no recognition easily given. It also meant that he suspected foul play or at least some form of trouble.

'I understand, Grandfather,' was his eventual answer. Arcturus nodded curtly.

'Also, though I feel you may not need much convincing in the matter, you should keep the topic or at least the origin of your wand to yourself. I have already informed the family of this decision. You may have to divulge some information eventually if you cannot shift attention from the subject, but I trust your judgement in this.'

Harry saw no problem with this request. The only person he had ever talked about his wand with sat opposite him. He nodded.

'Next, I would like you to keep an eye on the staff at Hogwarts. I do not wish for you to spy on them, merely observe them carefully. You need not report your observations, but I will stress the point that I do not have faith in some of the recent appointments. Or some of those that happened long ago, to be honest. In a good effort, it has been ensured that the educational standard of Hogwarts is now better than in recent centuries, so you will have no complaints there. I will not restrain myself from telling you, however, that the personal loyalty of several Professors stands in question.'

Harry wondered if he read the situation correctly. From his understanding, Arcturus had used what connections he had left to secure some dismissals in recent years. He was obviously not able to prevent other political factions from appointing their candidates. This was made worse by the fact that nowadays there were many political camps that tried to stay in the shadows. It was hard to prepare for antagonism if you were not only unsure who the enemy was, but also if there was an enemy to begin with. All in all, a pyrrhic victory at best.

'Lastly,' he added with a genuine smile, 'I shall leave the matter of revealing your magical abilities to your discretion. I think you may see the wisdom in not revealing how proficient you really are in matters of Charms. You will have to learn Transfiguration from the beginning with your classmates, same with Potions and Astronomy. I would also not advise you to flaunt most of what you know about Defence, or for that matter, the Dark Arts. But we have talked about this, and you have a free reign.'

After a second of consideration, he nodded. 'I understand, Grandfather. In fact, besides your advice regarding Occlumency, I would likely have taken a similar approach in any case.'

'I know, Harry.' Arcturus seemed to relax, and let Harry know that the official House Black business had been dealt with. Shortly thereafter, Cranky offered both of them refreshments. Arcturus ordered a specific elven wine, while Harry accepted a butterbeer, which he casually drank right from the bottle.

Arcturus good-naturedly lifted an eyebrow, causing Harry to chuckle.

'Sorry! Couldn't resist, seeing as I shall have to refrain from doing this in the foreseeable future.'

They shared small laughs, and the conversation soon turned to matters of little importance, but Harry always enjoyed the time he spent with his grandfather, especially if there was no business at hand. He was glad for the opportunity to relax without having to guard himself in any way, and he knew his grandfather felt the same way. Besides Harry, there was probably only the rest of the Black family with which he could share some rare moments of inconsequential bliss, as being vulnerable in the presence of political allies or friends of House Black, authentic or pretended made little difference in this matter, was unthinkable. And even the matter of whom to really consider family was not always completely clear...

Harry was absent-mindedly changing the colour of the label on his butterbeer with every tap of his wand when Arcturus finally brought up the matter of his research.

'You have been quite busy lately, Harry. I am pleased, of course, with your vigour in matters of study. What slightly concerns me is the lack of sleep you seem to have had for some time, not to mention your driven expression.'

Harry paused his wand play and thought about what to say for a second. Lies were not tolerated here.

'Yes, some matters were recently brought to my attention. They are more of a personal concern, though. What really drives me up the wall is my slow progress in the matter.'

Arcturus examined his expression for a moment before he spoke slowly in an attempt to hide his amusement. 'You are stuck, dear Grandson?'

'A temporary deceleration of progress would have been my preferred phrasing...' mumbled Harry, and he knew this was immature, but he could not help himself. Arcturus seemed highly entertained in any case.

'So I take it this is no matter of concern for the family?'

The question was light, but Harry knew what this was about. His grandfather was very lax in most things, especially considering their positions, but the bottom line was always to never undermine the family. There was no need for a reminder though, as Harry's priorities had been headed by the interests of House Black for quite some time now.

'No, it is more a personal challenge, I guess. As much as I enjoy the task, I guess I am not used to slow progress.'

'How could you be?' mused his grandfather. 'I do not think I remember you brooding over any problem, magical or otherwise, for very long before coming up with an acceptable solution. In this regard, I think it is high time you make your way to Hogwarts. That place brims with the unknowable. I think you will enjoy your stay there very much. As much as you repeat that you hate your slow progress, I know you to enjoy unravelling these things thoroughly. Also, you may find someone at school who may be fit to hold a candle to yourself, in certain areas at least.'

'We'll see,' Harry responded cockily, though he was definitely excited at the prospect of worthy competition. Seeing the restored mood of his grandson, Arcturus chuckled.

'Also, I think you should use your stay there to confront your issues with the fairer sex, Harry.'

Harry shot him a betrayed look, which only added to his grandfather's entertainment. It was clear who was on both of their minds.

 _~BLHD~_

That night, Harry had slight problems falling asleep. His talk with his grandfather had indeed put his mind to rest – to some extent at least – but now he found himself very much impatiently awaiting his term at Hogwarts. For that reason, it may have been best that he was not awake when all three house elves silently entered his room in the middle of the night.

Cranky threw a calculating look towards Harry that, for all the apparent strangeness of this situation, revealed the deep conflict in the ancient creature. The other two stood near the door, their uneasiness palpable, exchanging nervous glances between Cranky and Harry. Cranky, however, seemed to finally have come to some kind of decision, as he, after some hesitation, purposefully strode towards Harry...


	4. HD: Nefarious Black

**Nefarious Black**

* * *

Dawn had finally come. Harry jumped every second step on his way down to the informal dining room. His grandfather stood at the bottom of the staircase, chuckling at Harry's obvious eagerness.

'You know, Harry, your family would be very much set at ease if you allowed yourself to be seen like this by anyone but me. They keep telling me how they fear your obsession with books and studies may turn you into a studious house-elf. If only they knew of your feisty beginnings…'

Harry returned a smile but looked slightly sheepish nevertheless.

'Aw, come on, Grandfather. Don't mock me on this fine day. Especially since it was you who talked me into this.' Arcturus returned the smile and led his grandson to breakfast. Cranky seemed to have done his utmost to impress him upon his departure, in alarmingly unexpected ways.

'Is ... is that Fugu, Cranky?' Harry eventually managed to stutter. Arcturus, meanwhile, seeing Harry's expression, was having trouble suppressing a laugh.

'It is indeed, Master Harry,' replied the smug elf with a note of self-satisfaction. Upon seeing Harry's apparent lack of comprehension, he explained a bit more. 'Cranky had Kreacher and Minny supply him with a specimen of adequate quality, which took them long enough. Cranky personally then prepared the meal for Master Harry's culinary pleasure, and because it seemed like a challenge, Cranky abstained from doing it the simple way and did not use one bit of magic.'

Harry was slightly wary, as he had heard that pufferfish was highly toxic, but he did not want to affront Cranky. Arcturus was even more hesitant, but both eventually braved the dish, finding its unusual taste and the slightest tingling sensation a welcome if strange experience.

'Harry, before I forget it: In contrast to our previous arrangements, we may not be able to celebrate winter solstice as privately as we are both accustomed to. Due to some circumstances, it will be unavoidable to hold a formal ball this year, and yes,' he added, seeing the look of annoyance on Harry's face, 'you have to attend as well, I fear. You may, of course, invite any new acquaintances you make at Hogwarts this term, and I know Cranky will be all too happy to accommodate them.'

The elf shone with alacrity and added with an evil grin, 'Cranky will be most pleased! Cranky may even enlarge Master Harry's bed if his new friends prove to be the female sort.'

Harry tried to ignore the jibe but failed to keep the embarrassment from his face.

'No worries, Harry. If you fail to bewitch any young ladies this year, I am all too sure your cousin will gladly take their place,' Arcturus added smartly.

'Oh, please! Will the two of you shut up! Why must you torture me so?'

 _~BLHD~_

King's Cross was simply incredible. Harry only wished he could somehow improve it further by removing all the people – or gagging them all at the very least. People nearly jumped out of his way in an effort to distance themselves, and then there was the buzzing of only slightly veiled insults. He was used to the muttering of course, but it did not help his temper that parents kept pointing at him, obviously warning their offspring to stay away from the Blacks. Others threw occasional glances of envy towards him, though he highly suspected they, in fact, merely applied to his wardrobe. He had dressed in his favourite black and green robes and additionally wore a light velvet shawl. Truthfully, he had not paid any particular attention to his clothing today, but by the looks he received, he was sure other people thought him a braggart of some sort.

'Do not let it bother you, Harry. I am sure there will be people who are amendable in their way of thinking. If you have any problems whatsoever, do send me an owl, or simply call Cranky. He does not wish me to tell you this, but he was most worried. I do think you would please him very much should you decide to summon him once or twice in the castle. You would put my mind to rest as well, as I know the little tot will do his best to keep your problems at arm's length, or even the length of your new cutlass, possibly.'

Harry could not help but smile, trying his best to reassure his grandfather. 'Please do not worry, Grandfather! I promise I will make you proud.'

Arcturus took a long moment gazing into his eyes, and Harry realised that this man, for all his outward calm, would probably blast away half the castle if he thought him in trouble. His grandfather grabbed his shoulder and revealed a minuscule but honest smile.

'You always do, son.'

Harry had trouble mastering his emotions and was still visibly bleary-eyed when he finally settled for a compartment far in the back of the train. He instantly buried himself in one of his books and tried to persuade himself that there was nothing wrong with a fourteen-year-old showing some slightly embarrassing puffy eyes. Not too long after the train had started rolling, the door swung open and a girl with curly brown hair entered.

 _~BLHD~_

Hermione Granger had been incredibly excited for over a year now. Since she had gotten her letter last year, she had dragged her parents all over Diagon Alley at least three dozen times. She had marvelled at the strangeness of the magical world and was extremely grateful to be able to prepare for school all year long. Her parents had been slightly disinclined towards this whole magic business, but in the end, Hermione's youthful enthusiasm had won them over.

Though she was indeed quite eager to learn as much as she could, she could not help but feel like she was leaving something behind once the train started running. She breathed deeply a few times and made her way along the compartments. She had heard the chatter of course; some kind of incredibly dangerous family called Black had placed their youngest scion on the train. It was said that an entire generation of their main family (whatever that was) had been sentenced to Azkaban, all of them for murder. She had also heard how one of them had died in a fight, trying to kill the Aurors that were sent to apprehend him, so she could not be entirely sure what to believe. It did sound pretty bad, anyway. How could they let someone like that loose on the train? If she was honest with herself, all the murmur had left her feeling quite unsafe and wary.

As she had no way of knowing whom to avoid, she glanced nervously into the compartments she passed but found most of them full of boisterous laughter, talk, or students much older than her. Finally, she found one that was completely empty except for a rather frail-looking boy in elegant robes of black and green who sat by the window and was deeply immersed in his reading.

'Hello, my name is Hermione. May I sit here?' she asked politely.

To her great surprise, the boy nearly jumped as she spoke, and – now that she had a better look – seemed rather red-eyed.

'Sure...'

That seemed to be everything he was willing to say, so she sat down at his side. Soon, she realised that he seemed keen on retreating even further into the depths of his seat with what she speculated to be embarrassment. She tried to ease the mood.

'What's that you're reading?' she asked with pronounced cheerfulness.

'Malagoch's s-second theorem on the permanency of charms in hazardous environments,' he eventually divulged, sounding highly reluctant. Apparently, this boy was rather shy. He was barely able to hold a coherent conversation with a girl, by the looks of it. She suppressed a giggle and a pang of guilt both, as curiosity easily won over any other emotions.

'I've never heard of that one before... It is not part of the first year curriculum, is it? I've read those, of course.'

Her voice had betrayed only sincere interest and perhaps a slight worry that she did not know of Malagoch. Maybe this caused the boy to look her in the eye for the first time, if only for the briefest of moments.

'It ... is not p-part of the Hogwarts course of instruction. I think the basics will be covered in fourth or fifth year Charms, though.'

Panic reared its ugly head, sniffing the air. Had Hermione failed already?!

'Is...Is it expected of us to read that far ahead? I had initially thought I'd done an acceptable job preparing. But in hindsight, my efforts were pretty feeble, after all. Oh no. OH NO! What have I done, loitering away, watering the plants!' She had a hard time calming herself, aware how she flailed her hands around hysterically. Hermione knew she must look like a neurotic, but her entire stomach seemed to disintegrate with unwelcome feelings of insecurity.

The boy observed her silently – as if to decide whether or not she was taking the mickey. After a moment, he offered a tiny smile and muttered softly, 'I doubt that very much. A good deal of people do not even bother opening the books that are set for the term, never mind actually reading ahead.'

He did not say anything more, but she managed to calm herself after several more moments anyway. 'Oh! Uh, thanks! I guess I'm really nervous about this whole thing. I mean, I tried to prepare myself, of course, but there is so much I don't know.'

'You are Muggle-born, then?' She might not have heard him speak at all if she had not become somewhat used to his gentle and hushed voice by now. At least he seemed to have calmed down enough to stop stuttering. She really felt for the boy. He might have an even harder time than her once they were at Hogwarts and the hustle and bustle began.

'Yes, I have had a few opportunities to pose questions to Professor McGonagall, obviously, but this is only my second real conversation with someone from the magical world.' She smiled brightly and tried to ignore that the gesture seemed to put him further on guard. 'Do you think I will be at a great disadvantage? The professor seemed keen to assuage my worries. I would appreciate another opinion – if you don't mind?'

The boy seemed bashful at being asked so many questions, and she kind of had to resist the urge to press for more information. It was quite pitiful to see him squirm, but for now, she needed answers, and he seemed to know a lot (or, at least, reasonably more than she herself did) about the magical world.

It took a while. Finally, he answered, speaking as if every word had been chosen with great care. 'I doubt that. Hogwarts has gone to great lengths to ensure Muggle-borns are not placed in an uncomfortable position in recent years. Receiving the book list and letter of acceptance more than a year in advance, for example, is such a measure. You also seem quite keen to learn, so I would not worry overmuch. You may want to know, however, that there may be those who will hold your upbringing against you.'

Feeling worried and relieved at once, she hurriedly tried to keep the chat alive. 'You mean that I'm Muggle-born? I've heard about that, but is it really so bad?'

At her question, he looked somewhat conflicted. In the end, he closed his book and seemed to force himself to answer nonetheless.

'Once, magical Britain was more or less divided into about seventy families who ruled supreme.' Hermione looked startled at the small boy, who now sounded as if he was citing an essay from the top of his head. 'Family in those times was as much a clan as it was a political affiliation. There were Muggle-borns too, of course, but they were of little consequence to the existing governmental structures. In time, the influence of those families waned, however, and today only a few of them still hold any real semblance of power, while many are gone entirely. Thus, some of them frown upon what they consider a "dilution of magical blood", meaning bonds between old families and newer ones, Muggles or Muggle-borns; they fear for the continued existence of their bloodlines. While said old families regard themselves as keepers of time-honoured traditions, many others see them as frumpy conservatives who hate to let go of their influence. Grindelwald's campaign brought the old families nearly to their knees, as they were blamed for the rise of the most dangerous Dark Lord in a thousand years. So, in summary: you should be fine.' As an afterthought, he added glumly, 'In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you were better off than others.'

Hermione had followed the small voice with rapt attention. His formal and educated way of speaking was unexpected, but she found it quite endearing. She had read about some of what he had said, of course, especially about Grindelwald. But somehow the whole story was never presented in the manner in which this coy boy had described it, even though he had been brief. He did not seem excessively partial to her either. She decided to put his story on the back of her mind. She had other questions, and she somehow doubted that this soft-spoken lad would have the spunk to refuse her.

'Is the Black family one of those old families you mentioned?' she asked excitedly.

'Yes.' That was all again. He seemed oddly reluctant, but she just needed to know all about it.

'I have heard some terrible rumours, you know? How a young scion of the Black family was on this very train, and how we should all keep away from him? He has supposedly learned evil magic starting from a young age. Apparently, the Blacks are all really horrible people. There are several of them in prison for murder and...'

Before she could continue, however, the compartment door was yanked open, and she was alarmed to realise how fast the frail boy had his wand in his hand. Or maybe he had had it in his sleeve all the time?

In the frame of the door stood a tall and elegantly dressed blond boy, behind him two mountains of fat and muscle. Their faces seemed friendly enough, though.

'Merlin, Harry! I've looked for you all over the place. Was it really necessary to hide in the very back of the train?'

The skinny boy, Harry she supposed, relaxed visibly and sunk back into his seat. To her amazement, his attitude seemed completely casual all of a sudden. Was he just terribly bad with girls?

'Hello, Draco. Yeah…I'm not exactly in the mood right now. How about we catch up in the hall?'

The other boy laughed loudly. That one certainly didn't seem to lack confidence. 'Yeah, sure, mate. Who is this, by the way? I don't think I know her.'

Her bashful companion looked slightly troubled but proceeded with introductions nevertheless. He seemed oddly familiar with those and managed without stuttering. 'Draco, this is Hermione...' He cleared his throat to pass the awkward moment. 'Well, Hermione, that would be Draco Malfoy.'

'Granger!' she added suddenly, blushing slightly at the realisation that she had not even told him her full name. As he had not even seen fit to introduce himself, she quickly dropped the guilt. She was surprised that neither boy made any attempt to introduce the gorillas, nor – for that matter – did those two look offended. The other boy seemed deep in thought, and his eyebrows shot upwards.

'But she's a...'

'Be nice, Draco.'

She could not follow their exchange, but the soft words the frail one had uttered managed to sway the other boy quite easily. _Strange, given their characters_. But then, he seemed quite different as long as she was not involved.

'Haha! Sorry, Harry. We'll see each other later, then. Oh! And have you heard all those rumours about the nefarious Black scion? Please don't butcher any students and bathe in their blood while I'm in a different compartment, promise?' He winked disgustingly at the skinny boy in her company and closed the door.

For a few moments, there was silence and silence only.

Then, the boy got up and, to Hermione's great discomfort, closed the shutters. Afterwards, he tapped the door with his wand. When she heard the door bolted shut, she was starting to panic again. He made his way towards her, and she raised her arms instinctively…

When she opened her eyes ten seconds later, she saw that he had just sat down again, maybe even more shrunken into the back of his seat than ever before.

'I…just wanted to avoid any further visits. Draco can, er, be a bit annoying, but he is comparably harmless.' He picked up his book and began to read again.

Hermione was dumbfounded, but eventually, she found her voice again. 'What? You're that incredibly dangerous lunatic they all go on about?' She could not keep the incredulity from her voice.

He, however, was completely deadpan. Much more so than before, actually, to her slight concern. 'Yes. Sorry to disappoint your fancy imagination.'

She gawked at him for nearly half a minute before she came to her senses, remembering what she had said before they had been interrupted. She cringed, her ears burning with shame. Remembering her own dilemma _back then_ , she immediately pounced to apologise. 'Sorry. That was really immature of me. I can't believe those idiots start this kind of ridiculous rumour. And, of course, I'm actually daft enough to put my foot in...'

His eyes flickered towards her briefly before returning to his book. He let out a breath she assumed he must have been holding for quite some time. 'Doesn't matter. I am used to that phenomenon.'

Hermione felt awful about this whole affair and tried to push her selfish thoughts away. He did seem pretty interested in charms, and that at least was something she could relate to. 'Was that a charm you used on the door? I didn't recognise the movement of your wand from the spell books...'

Her voice trailed away very slowly. She had the distinct impression that he was deciding whether to answer or not. Not wanting to let it end like this, she crept a bit closer to him, and – to her amusement – he clammed up again.

'Co... _Colloportus_ is a bit unsafe, as the, ehh, counter-charm is also found in the Standard Book of Spells Grade I. Therefore, I used something a bit more difficult to undo...'

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Quite amused, she wanted to see how far she could push him. She leant even closer in. 'You-can-find-it-in-the-sixth-grade-book-please-back-off-a-little! Merlin-I-am-no-good-with-this.'

She backed off and could not rein in her laughter. The alleged malicious master of Dark Arts, however, was busy looking away, a rather grumpy frown on his face.

'Sorry, Harry. But that's incredible! How come you're so far ahead...?'

Once she strayed from matters of his family, kept her distance and focused the topics of their talks on charms or magic in general, she found him thawing a bit. He was certainly knowledgeable in some areas. She had read further ahead than him in Potions and Astronomy; both subjects did not really seem to overly excite him. But she was quite surprised when he finally told her that, while his grandfather had taught him some magic, he had actually pushed himself this far ahead in charms, especially in its theory.

Their talks soon strayed from strictly lesson-related subjects, and while he still seemed very guarded to Hermione, Harry did at least seem more willing to participate in their chat. Soon she had told him much of her childhood, and he listened with obvious interest about her take of growing up in the Muggle-world. Several times, people tried to open the door, and twice, Hermione could very clearly hear someone trying the _Alohomora_ charm before swearing loudly. One time, some person hammered on the door for at least three minutes. During this incident, Harry kept shooting the door worried glances, as if afraid of what might lurk beyond. Hermione too made no attempt to answer the knocks. She was sure any interruption in their innocent banter would disrupt their tender connection completely.

Not long before dusk, the topic of houses came up.

'I have read all about them, naturally,' Hermione opened the topic. 'I think Ravenclaw seems by far the best, though I would not mind Gryffindor, I guess. Slytherin seems to have a nasty reputation.'

Harry volunteered a minuscule smile and shook his head. Hermione immediately pounced on even this most demure sign of disagreement.

'You don't agree, Harry? Which house would you pick if you could?'

'Apologies, Hermione, I've had this discussion before. I think we shall have to disagree on this point, as I personally feel Ravenclaw would be the worst fit, for me at least.'

Hermione, completely surprised, immediately shot back, 'Seriously, Harry? You can't try to tell me that you're uninterested in learning or knowledge; even I have picked up on that in only a few hours. And please don't insult my intelligence by trying to deny your own.'

'It's not that!' He waved a hand dismissively. 'But the motivation behind it does not agree with me. I enjoy working on my charms because I do have some uses for them in mind. The concept of hoarding spell lore just for its own sake holds no real lure for me. Advancing the knowledge of wizardkind in general has never been and never will be my goal. And the same goes for you, I think.'

Hermione had not expected to turn on her, but the boy continued as if he did not need her permission to do so.

'You say you have picked up a few things about me, so let me return the favour. I think you are a, er, very bright young witch.' To her amusement, his cheeks coloured subtly, though he did not stop at merely complimenting her.

'But whenever you spoke of your upbringing, you had a definite hardness in your voice, even though you seem to be on good terms with your parents. So my guess would be that you had some problems in school. It isn't particularly difficult to imagine why. People often feel threatened by others they feel inferior to, and children can be brutally honest in their disdain. I do not wish to delve too deeply, but I think it entirely possible that a stand-off or passive isolation might have only further cemented your place outside of your peers, forcing you to devote yourself further to books and studies.'

He paused slightly and added in a softer tone, 'Not that I consider this a bad thing, mind you. I have more or less been living in the library for years. But now you venture into a previously unknown world and find yourself – again – committed to your studies. Would you not, therefore, have to agree with me that you have, at least in part, always put so much fervour into your studies because you wished to prove yourself right? To get a place for yourself that you feel like you deserved? Is this not ambition and resourcefulness? And – please don't slap me – would it be a stretch to say that self-interest or maybe rather self-preservation, the intent to protect yourself from others, was at least part of your upbringing? Those are predominant traits of House Slytherin, as you surely realise.'

Whatever she might have expected, _this_ was not it. She felt angry with and betrayed by this flimsy boy in his expensive robes for exposing her like this. A furtive glance towards the door reassured her, however, that at least no one else had heard this. How had he been able to read her so easily anyway? Were all boys brought up by wizarding parents so scary?! There is no way someone should have been able to get such an accurate impression from only a few minutes of friendly chatter about one's childhood, right? And it actually seemed that he was holding back. Did he not state how he did not want to dig deeper? _This is ridiculous_.

To her utter astonishment, he grimaced sheepishly. 'It seems I need to apologise, Hermione. I seem to have taken on some bad habits of my grandfather's. He is much worse than me, but I remember clearly how uncomfortable that experience can be.'

'I'm in no hurry to make his acquaintance if that truly is the case, Harry.'

For the first time in hours, Harry gave an honest smile, even if it was small and short-lived. This little discovery calmed her down relatively quickly. She could not really be angry with him anyway, considering her initial ghastly behaviour.

'You may have a point, Harry,' she conceded grudgingly, 'but I really do like studying for what it is, not only for the proving myself aspect. I'd really rather not join Slytherin.'

Harry did not seem to pay her his full attention, however, but before she could become truly cross with him, an unfamiliar look of gleeful trickery that took her aback emerged on his face.

'Say, Hermione. You've asked me a dozen times this past hour what you could do to make me forgive you. How about this: If I get sorted into Slytherin, you will at least honestly consider the option and deeply reflect upon it for, let's say, fifteen minutes, how does that sound? If you make a sincere effort, we'll call it quits. Promise!'

She looked at him, full of doubt. This seemed a bit too easy for the awful things she had said. It was not like she even had to do anything, merely consider an option in case something happened.

'Harry, I don't even know how we are sorted, though you obviously know something. Is this really all right?'

His strangely roguish expression caused her a slight amount of anxiety, but he was just trying to bury the hatchet, right? There was no way this rather demure little boy, who had apparently buried himself in books for years, could belong anywhere but Ravenclaw, right?

'Yeah, it'll be fine, Hermione. If you stay true to our promise, so will I.'

He offered his hand, and – after a brief hesitation – she put that ridiculous notion of some greater plot out of her mind and accepted the handshake.

In hindsight, she should have paid attention to the fact that, for all his prior shyness and aversion to physical contact with her, Harry had been oddly composed and confident at that precise moment.


	5. HD: Possessions and belonging

**AN (sigh):**

 _I've been besieged an astonishing amount of times already with questions regarding Harry's background or other things so far not explained in the story. Well – I intend to write this as an authentic novel with people as an audience in mind who know the Harry Potter saga. Therefore, I will intentionally leave information out at times as a way of keeping things interesting. Please don't hate me for this. I have a profound distaste for fictions that try to explain every bit of difference between their plot and the original. Just stick to the story; everything will be unveiled in due time either directly as part of the narration or by you coming to conclusions._

 _Thanks for all the interest so far!_

* * *

 **Of possessions and belonging**

The rest of their journey seemed to pass in a blur, as both of them were in a good mood. Well, Hermione was, and she tried her very best to share this happy circumstance with Harry. She _was_ glad that he seemed to be coming around. Harry, on the other hand, had his own reasons to play along. After they had heard the announcement of their imminent arrival, they made a grab for their trunks. Hermione could not entirely keep the smile from her lips when Harry positively bolted out of the room the moment she told him that she would like to change.

Leaving their luggage behind, they made their way off the train. Hermione noticed something strange about Harry's robes, and curiosity got the better of her again. 'Harry, what's that embroidery on the front of your robes?'

A strange look seemed to flit across his face, but only for the most fleeting of moments. 'That would be the crest of House Black, Hermione.'

His tone was still light, but she had taken note of how his eyes projected a strange sense of warning. She had learned firsthand that maybe she should keep quiet about these matters until she had gotten a better understanding of them.

'Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!' A giant of a man with a wild look grabbed their attention, and they followed the other fourteen-year-olds.

'All righ',' the colossus finally proclaimed when the big group of students had gathered and no one else seemed to be exiting the train. 'I'm Rubeus Hagrid, and among other things, I am Keeper of Keys and Grounds. Follow me, yer won't be takin' the carriages this time 'round.'

'Why not, sir?' It was truly impossible for Hermione to refrain from asking.

'Ah–course it's tradition, see? Firs' years always cross the lake. I don' think you'll regret it either.' The giant chuckled kindly as he entered a small boat. With each heave of his enormous chest, the small boat lifted and sank a foot.

'N' more than four to a boat. Hurry up, hurry up, or Professor McGonagall'll have my head again.'

Harry had been staying to the back of the crowd, and when he finally entered a boat, no one except Hermione seemed brave enough to follow suit.

'Honestly, it's like they expect you to do them in at any moment.' Hermione seemed deeply disgruntled that she had been no better and continued to mutter 'ridiculous' or 'completely barmy' under her breath for a while.

Harry let it go and enjoyed the smooth journey across the lake. 'Ooohh!' The delighted squeals of the girls echoed from one of the boats in the front. Soon they had their own first look at the ancient castle. The countless lights reflected in the water made it truly a wonderful sight. It was indeed so enchanting that Harry was willing to overlook the slightly embarrassing sounds from some of the girls.

The boats took them along the cliffs and into some kind of cave that had most definitely not been observable before. After they had landed on a small pier, Hagrid led them along a winding path by the side of the castle wall until they eventually stood before the huge and magnificent portal. The giant lifted his hand and knocked three times. His hammering sounded like cannons to Harry's ears.

The gate swung open, and a formidable looking older witch with a stern face and tight expression stood in the doorway. 'Just barely on time, Professor Hagrid.'

The giant shuffled his feet uncomfortably. 'The firs' years, Professor McGonagall.'

'Obviously. I shall take them from here. Do proceed to the Great Hall.'

The giant seemed eager to leave, and Harry thought that maybe he should play nice with this particular witch. Her expression softened somewhat when her gaze fell upon the first years. 'Welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Professor McGonagall, and you stand on the threshold of the most ancient school of magic that stands till present day in the western world. Follow me, and I shall tell you what is expected of you.'

Most of them seemed eager to follow, but Harry still kept to the back. As he finally set foot over the threshold, however, he was instantly assaulted with a pandemonium of colours, sounds and the all-enveloping presence of magic. It was like hell had broken loose; his head felt like it might explode. He could not even see his own hands in the torrents of swirling magics all around him, and he had to shut his eyes to avoid becoming violently sick. It was too much to bear, and he only just managed to lean against the cold wall of stone in an effort to keep himself standing.

Hermione, who had been standing behind him, let out a loud squeal and rushed to his side. 'Oh my god, Harry, you're bleeding. What happened? Professor! PROFESSOR!'

Harry had just managed to hastily wipe away the trail of blood that gushed down from his nose with his dress handkerchief before the professor approached. It was good luck that he had selected a rather dark one that morning, so it wasn't visible just how much blood the small piece of silk had already absorbed. 'Thank you for your concern, but it is just a headache. I'm alright, Professor.'

The deputy headmistress looked at him incredulously, her lips rather thin. 'You certainly are not! I will escort you to the infirmary, and we shall do our best to restore you before we begin with the Sorting Ceremony, Mr...' She hesitated for a second. 'Mr Black.'

In the meantime, most others had caught on and were shamelessly gaping at Harry, who could hardly remain afoot.

He heard muttering, and someone exclaimed loudly, 'What? That frail-looking spoiled brat with the nosebleed is the feared scion of House Black? Seriously, what a wh...'

Whoever had said this did–oddly enough–not manage to finish his sentence. Harry thought he heard a thud, some rustling of clothes and a few screams of horror and outrage. He did, however, open his eyes just long enough to recognise the long, shiny blond hair and feminine stature of his cousin who, for some reason, was wiping her hand of blood as well.

'I'll escort him to the infirmary, Professor.' After a short pause, she added in a small voice, 'I appear to have injured my hand.'

 _~BLHD~_

'I-I can walk on my own, Daphne, please.'

'Shut up, Harry! You're as white as a blanket, and how can you walk if you keep your eyes shut all the time? Seriously, what happened?'

'Just a bit of pain in the head, no need to make a fuss.'

'Shut your mouth, Black, or I'll write Arcturus about this.'

This did shut him up alright, and Daphne, taking her chance, pulled him even closer to her. He could feel her face right next to his, her arm around his waist supporting him, and could not help but grow increasingly hot and red.

'P-p-please, Daphne!' he pleaded whiningly. 'Don't embarrass me like this.'

He continued to feebly complain, for all the good it did him. Daphne dragged him, not too unkindly, through half the castle. He heard several other pairs of footsteps and assumed them to be faculty of some sort.

The infirmary was a wide and bright open chamber with a good dozen neat and – currently – empty beds. Daphne guided him to a bed at the very back. Only now did it hit him just how difficult it had been to keep standing, and he nearly collapsed before Daphne gently pulled him up and helped him lie down. The effort to stay awake seemed unbearable by this time. Even with his eyes shut, hundreds of streaks of light continued to dance around him, leaving him utterly exhausted and nauseous...

Soon an older-looking lady with prominent blue eyes bent over him and hastily tried to shoo Daphne away. 'Go to hell, lady, I won't leave!' As if to emphasise her intent, she fiercely grabbed Harry's left hand in both of hers.

He heard indignation and shouting but had difficulty concentrating on his surroundings, as he felt himself spinning down a very long slope of encroaching blackness.

 _~BLHD~_

Coming to, there was an older, gentle female voice. 'He is alright. I don't know exactly what happened, but he seems to be getting better. For now, I have given him a Calming Draught, a potion against headache and some other things to stabilise him. He may partake in the Sorting after one last check-up, but I do insist that he spends the night here. I have yet to determine what brought on this fit.'

He heard a small reply that seemed pleased, and the matron continued.

'The other boy, well, I was able to sort him out fast enough. Someone seems to have broken his nose in a rather brutal fashion, but he can leave as well.'

Harry's senses came around, and he slowly opened his eyes. The swirling vortex of impressions was still there, yet it was somehow less overwhelming, hardly more than whispers and shadows in the background. He tried to sit up, and immediately, someone very gently came to his help. He looked around and grinned nervously at Daphne.

'Thanks. Have I missed anything?'

She looked at him, a mix of emotions clearly visible on her face. He thought he discerned worry, annoyance and relief among other things. 'No, Harry, you passed out for five minutes at most. Seriously, what's wrong with you? I know you're not exactly a beater in his prime, but I've never seen you have an attack like this.'

'Later!' he muttered evasively, very aware of how the matron and a professor with a prominent beaker, as well as the deputy headmistress, were watching him most carefully. His cousin seemed somewhat mollified that he did at least intend to fill her in and made no further comment. Harry glanced down and realised that she was still holding his hand, and–in shock–he tried to tear himself away. He was still somewhat weak, to his dismay, and she had no trouble holding on, smirking slightly.

'How are you feeling, Mr Black?' The concerned-looking matron peered into his eyes as if daring him to lie.

Harry decided to go with a bit of honesty. 'Exhausted,' he answered, stealthily continuing his efforts to free himself from Daphne's grasp. 'But better for now. May I please take my leave for the Sorting?'

She threw him a calculating look. He was sure it had been the right idea to go along with parts of the truth. She seemed reluctant enough to let him go anyway. 'You know, you can do an individual Sorting at any later point in time, young man.'

That was not acceptable for several reasons. He had been embarrassed enough, and there was also that _other business_. Thinking about his scheme, he could not help but let an honest smile shine through. 'Thank you, ma'am, but I would much rather be sorted with my fellow classmates.'

His smile seemed to go a long way in reassuring her, and she finally permitted him to leave. Daphne helped him stand up, and though he squirmed quite a bit and uttered feeble protests, she held on to his hand and accompanied him out of the infirmary. He was feeling too nervous and uncomfortable to notice the nasty look the other boy with blood all over the front of his robes shot at Daphne, though he did notice her return it with interest. Slightly puzzled, he looked at her. His cousin merely smiled serenely, wordlessly indicating the way to the Entrance Hall...

 _~BLHD~_

As they arrived five minutes later, the whole mob of first years stood before a gigantic oaken door which he assumed led to the Great Hall. The mob was buzzing fiercely. It grew even more excited after a few students spotted Harry and Daphne, who were still hand in hand. Seconds later, Hermione fought her way towards them.

'Oh, Harry! How are you? You don't look so pale anymore. There have been some ridiculous rumours again. You probably don't even want to know... But what really happened?' In her eagerness, she had initially failed to notice Daphne, but soon her eyes travelled over his cousin's striking features and their joined hands. 'And who is this?'

Daphne only raised an eyebrow, but Harry could see the fire in her eyes and tried to avert the looming disaster.

'Daphne, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, Daphne Greengrass.'

Daphne frowned, looking thoughtful, and Harry remembered with a sense of foreboding that this cousin of his could be quite sharp.

'I don't think I know of you or your name. Yet still, you seem oddly familiar with Harry, considering how he reacts to girls in general.'

Her eyebrows raised, Daphne's voice grew irritated and rather loud. 'I don't believe this. You spurn my own presence, but shut yourself in with someone you hardly know? That was you in the last compartment, wasn't it? Harry, give me one good reason...'

He could see they were approaching dangerous territory, and his instinct and experience in past dealings with his cousin told him he should hastily take the earliest possible exit from this conversation if he fancied any chance of heading off a possible tantrum of epic proportions. With a slight appreciation for the irony, he also remembered Arcturus' words about avoiding big dramas.

'Please calm down, Daphne! I-I was initially alone in that compartment. Hermione joined me by chance, and I only shut the door, uh, because Draco brought his cronies. I was not really in the mood for this whole Bringer-of-Evil thing.' He tried to reason with her, though it did, apparently, little good. He also tried to free himself from her grip one more time.

He might as well have tried to wrestle with the castle.

Daphne angrily poked him in the chest and snarled. 'A likely story.' She took a few deep breaths and drew him much, much closer to her. Harry was still feeling rather faint and did not manage to resist the pull. In a state of increasing discomfort, he realised how her face was now mere inches from his. His chest hurt. He was rather afraid he would need a Blood Replenisher when this was over. Daphne's blue eyes shone with equal measures of anger, neediness and amusement.

'Make it up to me, Black! Tomorrow you will sit every single one of your classes with me, and you will not try to flee when I approach you for a long and good talk between us for the sake of catching up. You will also have the privilege of spending your first Hogsmeade weekend with this beautiful young lady. Promise me now! Else, I will be forced to make your Hogwarts debut very embarrassing indeed, Harry.' She breathed these last words softly to him, and he felt a slight sense of anticipation creep down his spine. He looked around for help. She immediately interjected and gently threw one arm over his shoulder, drawing him in. 'No Cranky here this time, Harry dearest...' He gulped; her eyes now definitely also radiated a scarily burning determination.

'I-I-I promise. Please, Daphne. I beg of you, take a step back.'

His cousin smirked triumphantly and drew back. She even let go of his hand. 'Good choice, Harry. I need to find Tracey, so you're off the hook for tonight. Bye bye!'

Not minding half the first years watching her, she twirled around, blew him a kiss in an exaggerated fashion and winked playfully before she vanished into the crowd.

Harry leaned against the wall. It took him several moments to calm down. Trying to ease his breathing, he told himself that it would probably merely look like an outburst from a bystander's perspective, as Daphne had refrained from shouting out the more delicate parts of her threat. But with a new wave of shame, he remembered how Hermione had observed the whole spectacle and even listened in. Slowly, he turned his eyes towards her and felt rather betrayed when she looked at him in obvious amusement.

'Would she really have snogged you just to embarrass you in front of the whole school?'

Harry suppressed a shudder and closed his eyes. He was fighting with all his might against the rising embarrassment, which is why he did not answer. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall rescued him; demonstrating perfect timing, she reappeared down the corridor with the other boy, whose robes were now free of blood – mostly.

She stalked towards the door. 'We shall keep this short, as there have been enough delays for one evening. You will proceed along the aisle in a single line. I will call your name, and you will sit down on the stool right in front of me before I lower the Sorting Hat upon you. Follow me, and try to not shame us any more than necessary.' She shot a meaningful look towards the direction Harry presumed Daphne must be before she opened the big door and briskly began walking.

There were four long tables packed with students of varying age. For the houses, Harry guessed. At the back of the hall stood one slightly embellished table, and at its centre, surrounded by his teachers, sat the lone man responsible for the Dark Lord's downfall.

As soon as he entered, he felt a small tickling sensation in his head and immediately looked up. As all the teachers and students were looking their way, it was hard to make out who was looking directly at him. He forced himself to relax and immediately concentrated as hard as he could on the serenity of his mind. The attempt had been rather careful and even his passive efforts would have been good enough, but he did not wish to take any chances. The presence retreated immediately, yet the perpetrator remained elusive.

Professor McGonagall, meanwhile, lay the ancient looking Sorting Hat on the chair, and after a brief silence, the hat began to sing:

 _Of Hogwarts I shall tell you_

– _oh young and eager mind –_

 _so listen well, and I will tell_

 _what lodgings you may find._

 _..._

At this point, Harry felt his attention waver already. As excited as he had been this morning, now he could not wait to finally be done with this. It only now dawned on him that he had never been this exposed to others in all his life. His upbringing had indeed been rather sheltered, and (except for some very rare excursions into Diagon Alley with his grandfather) he had only ever been with his family, on private property, that is. He had known the hostility would be bad, but it still was something else completely to bear the angry muttering and pointed looks all day long with no possibility of retreat. He was slightly ashamed that his first instinct was to turn tail and run. But that was still the preferable option, wasn't it? Going completely ballistic and cursing the lot of them would do him no good; such actions would only lead to further trouble down the road. He must not forget that his behaviour reflected on House Black as well, so there was truly only one option: to hold it in. If things really escalated, he would have to do something about specific individuals, but he would prefer it to never come to that.

He suddenly noticed that this was indeed the first time he had ever left the Black estates completely on his own. His grandfather had always insisted on tagging along. And who could fault him after that business with Regulus…

Thinking about this, Harry was suddenly kind of glad that at least Daphne would be at Hogwarts with him. She really knew how to rile him, and he felt completely helpless when faced with her usual methods, but there was at least no doubt that she meant well for him. Draco was alright, but due to his father, Harry could not entirely let his guard down around him. He wondered if anybody else would really consider befriending him in the coming years. Sure, Astoria would come to Hogwarts in two years, and the twins next year, but he was not entirely sure if the Lestranges would make things better. If they thought him bullied and wrote to Bella about it, she would probably come to school in the dead of night and kill the little shits who were accused. Yeah, that wouldn't reflect well on him. He felt he should really try to keep the rest of his family out of Azkaban, if at all possible. He would have to tough it out and play cool, and–if really necessary–possibly intimidate the annoying ones a bit. As long as they were boys, it should be no trouble. _Merlin, this headache is getting worse again._

All of a sudden, someone nudged him in the ribs. In bewilderment, he turned around; Draco was sniggering, pointing towards the empty chair and an irritated-looking deputy headmistress. He spun around again and saw the entire hall looking at him. _Oh damn!_

He walked casually towards the chair and tried his best to act even-tempered, ignoring the hostile muttering his family name must have provoked. He folded himself onto the chair and felt the filthy run-down hat being set on his pate, tuning out the few words he could make out under the low hum that had engulfed the hall. Traitor seemed to be particularly popular. Evil and lunatic were close runners-up.

'Filthy and run-down, ey?' He heard a small chuckle in his head. 'I do agree, I have seen better days, but we shall wait and see how you compare once you've passed your first millennium, Black. But we have the Sorting at hand, so let's get to it.'

The voice paused for some time, to Harry's annoyance. He really wanted to sleep. 'Well, get on with it, will you.'

Some more sniggering told him the hat was quite amused. 'Alright. Well, you are no Gryffindor. But the rest seem to fit, don't they? A most extraordinary mind you have and fierce loyalty to boot, at least to some carefully selected people. But fair play is not really your thing, is it? So maybe we should rule out Hufflepuff for you. Ravenclaw or Slytherin…Hmmm. I feel like Rowena and Salazar would both tear me apart if I did not place you in their respective house...Dear me, this is difficult.'

Harry could not keep a rising sense of irritation out of his mind. So he did as he always did when he was annoyed. The strange colours and feelings that swept across his consciousness really did not help his temper. 'You do realise that I intend to trick a Muggle-born witch into Slytherin later, right? So how about you put me there, and be done with it! I do not wish to sound vain, but I _can_ do better than sitting here for hours with a mouldy rug on my head.'

The hat gave another chuckle. 'Are you sure? By my fabric, you could do well in Ravenclaw! And in any case, I will only sort her where she belongs; I'll be sure to take a good, long look.'

This time, Harry returned a superior grin. 'Oh, you do that. In fact, I'm counting on you. Now get me into Slytherin, or I'll hex you yellow.'

'As you wish!' the hat replied amiably. 'This has been most droll. I do wish there were more people with your practical approach to sorting. But anyway, it shall be SLYTHERIN!'

To Harry's relief, the last words were shouted to the hall, and immediately the angry buzzing seemed to intensify. Supremely unconcerned, at least that was what he hoped he looked like, he put down the hat and strode towards the left side of the hall, sitting down at an empty place with his back to the wall. Several older students were looking at him curiously while the Sorting went on. To his astonishment, he realised that there were markedly less Slytherins than those of other houses. He had initially assumed that the hat might try to balance things out, but now that he thought about it, that was obviously impossible. Since your own will evidently played a big part in the process, the dominant power of opinion seemed to win out over implicit disposition and nature.

Without great interest, he watched Crabbe being sorted into Hufflepuff before he allowed his mind to wander again. He would have to do something about Slytherin. Normally, he really tried to be as open-minded as possible, but the current state of affairs was truly depressing. Most people nowadays did not even remember that Slytherin _did_ have valid reasons to not allow Muggle-borns into Hogwarts in ages past. Kind of. Now things _were_ different of course, but ironically, the only families who did know about these things were those proud to be sorted into Slytherin anyway. How had it come to this?

True, the old families had been shockingly short-sighted in some of their past dealings, but things were not much better on the other side either. He somehow got the distinct impression that some people thought being sorted into Gryffindor automatically meant you were the next hero in line, just waiting to shower the world in the goodness of your golden heart; whereas only psychotic nutters would voluntarily be sorted into the House of Snakes. How was he supposed to keep his temper with those idiots? If there was one thing that agitated him to no end (apart from his wilful cousin, maybe), then it was the foolishness and simplicity with which the public regarded matters of morality. Always, at any point in time, there only seemed to be heavenly good and dastardly evil. If you had some truly thoughtful specimen before you, he would maybe admit that there were also cowards who were too afraid to choose sides.

He needed to calm himself. He couldn't change these simpletons in one fell swoop nor was he entirely convinced that it was even possible, to begin with. It would have been so much easier to simply raze the whole thing to the ground and start anew. No wonder there was always some kind of Dark Lord every century or so. He truly wished muggle philosophy would be taught at Hogwarts; true, those non-magicals had some very strange things going on, but he rather admired how they had tried to decipher a world that was completely beyond them for thousands of years and did not seem ready to give up at any point in time.

Supremely annoyed, he supported his head with his left hand in an effort to ignore the swirling magenta that seemed to be poking at him, assaulting his sanity. In an effort to calm down, he began to play with his wand again.

He would have to do something about Slytherin first. Both about the idiots inside and those even bigger idiots in all the other houses. One step at a time. But how to best get started? He somehow felt like he had forgotten something, as he was sure he had thought about this before. He needed some kind of argument or instrument to truly shock the school and make them waver in their conviction. A grand showing, something better not directly connected to him, as he would always be looked upon with suspicion. He needed a catalyst to initialise change: a _weapon_.

Suddenly, he became aware that someone was glaring daggers at him. Mildly interested, he raised his head...only to find a certain Hermione Granger sitting opposite him, clearly fuming.

Harry grinned jovially, privately extremely glad that there was a table between them, as she seemed eager to bite his head off. This also had the benefit of enabling him to somewhat keep his cool. So he lifted his hand in a grand greeting and tried to give her a winning smile.

'Oh, hey, Hermione! Fancy meeting you here!'

The whole school was deadly silent. Everyone was still staring at Hermione and now him. Even the other Slytherins seemed much too surprised to even muster a look of disapproval.


	6. HD: The 'Bloody Thursday of Murders'

**The Bloody Thursday of Murders Part I and II**

* * *

Hermione was continuously giving him nasty looks that promised divine retribution, but stayed silent (at least for the time being). While sound was slowly restored to the hall, Harry made a show of trying to look indifferent, holding back his rampaging desire to laugh.

'Well...as promised, Hermione, I forgive you.'

This, however, might have been a bit too much for Hermione, who violently jerked her head around, looking for something to throw at him. 'Oh for the love of...Shut up, Harry! I can't believe you did this. You'll get yours, I promise!'

Harry turned towards his neighbour, some fifth year whom he had not talked with all this time, but who had looked at their bickering with interest. 'See? Perfect Slytherin. Already she makes ambitious plans for revenge.'

Hermione looked murderous even though some older Slytherins, to Harry's relief, seemed to find the situation rather entertaining. Hermione, in contrast, did apparently not appreciate the ongoing titter; without warning, she promptly made as if to stand, making Harry rather worried she might jump over the table to slap him. But suddenly, a furious shout sliced through the hall:

'DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE, YOU FILTHY PIECE OF SHIT!'

For the third time that evening, the hall was stunned to silence. Even Hermione, who had indeed been in the process of rising, looked around (nobody even noted her conduct). On the chair in the middle of the hall, all gazes concentrated on her, sat a fuming Daphne, ready to start breathing fire at a moment's notice.

A few seconds of incredulous and awe-struck silence muffled the hall completely. Finally, the hat proclaimed in an oddly small and restrained voice: '...Slytherin!'

Daphne flung the hat to the ground and stormed in Harry's direction. Professor McGonagall's lips were so thin Harry was already silently bemoaning his position, hoping to avoid at least one of those three towering tempers tonight.

Daphne thundered to his side and threw herself down without her usual amount of playful elegance. Eventually, she turned to Harry and spoke in a loud voice, completely disregarding the sea of silent onlookers.

'Can you _believe_ that freaking rag of a hat tried to put me into Gryffindor?'

The whole Slytherin table erupted into mirthful screams of laughter and applause, some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws joining in, too. Even Hermione sat down and could not help but show a hesitant smile, her earlier outburst all but forgotten. It took several minutes for the staff to calm them down to adequate levels of noise before the Sorting could continue. Harry listened to the amused banter at their table.

'Can't believe I almost faked my way out of this. Best start of the year feast, ever!'

'Hey, Selwyn! Did you see McGonagall's face? Or Professor Snape smirking at Dumbledore? I wish I had a Pensieve to brighten my morning with the memories of that mien every day.'

Harry reaped additional benefits from the continued palaver, as Daphne, for once, seemed out of words. And so the Sorting continued without any further incidents, leaving Harry quite cheerful. Well, at least as long as he successfully ignored the bright colours all around him. Once he accidentally paid them attention, they seemed even more eager to catch his notice. Just as Draco sat down next to Hermione, a long thread of purple seemed to flow into his nose.

'Brilliant, Greengrass! I think even the Lestranges would've been proud.'

'Well, what would you have done?' Daphne demanded hotly. 'The hat was all eager to dig as deep as he could and strangely set to cross me. Apparently, someone had played him or something. Can you even believe that?'

Harry had the sudden urge to inspect the tablecloth in greater detail. Hermione, however, saw her chance for retribution come early and free of charge. 'Oh, that would be because of Harry, I guess. He tricked me into concentrating hard on Slytherin during and before my Sorting and, from what the hat let slip, even gloated how he would be able to have his way with the process no matter what.'

Harry was getting slightly nervous, very much aware of Daphne sitting right next to him. 'Hermione? Did we not have a deal to call it quits?' he asked delicately.

'We did indeed, Harry,' she replied smugly, 'but our agreement only dealt with the subject of _your_ forgiveness.'

Harry was about to protest when he felt Daphne's arm sneak around his side and nearly jumped.

'In that case, I think this seating arrangement suits us just fine, doesn't it, Harry?'

'How did you manage to trick the hat, Harry? Oh, this is so good! I can't wait to write the others about this.' Draco still looked as if his birthday had come early, so Harry recounted his train ride and how he had managed to rope Hermione into concentrating hard on Slytherin while being sorted. The young Muggle-born Slytherin looked slightly bugged out, but Draco was having the time of his life. Harry, meanwhile, did his best (and failed miserably) to ignore Daphne's hand that rested on his waist and played with his robe. Draco eventually commented loudly on his many pauses and the stuttering.

'Aw, come on, Harry. You've seen Greengrass dozens of times. How pathetic is it that you can't even talk straight, just because she's sitting next to you?'

Harry grimaced but did not elaborate any further.

Tracey, whom Harry had not noticed until that point as she sat several places down the table, sniggered loudly and gave Daphne a not overly covert thumbs-up.

Once the ceremony was over and the actual feast had begun, Professor Hooknose made his way to the Slytherin table and gave Daphne a stern and cold look.

'Miss Greengrass, I must tell you that your behaviour at Hogwarts reflects on your house and, to an extent, even me. I would therefore advise you to refrain from such public displays in the future. Do you understand me?'

Daphne looked annoyed, but replied quite respectfully nevertheless. 'Yes, Professor.'

The teacher gave a curt nod. 'Good. Now, Professor McGonagall has also been kind enough to inform me that you were responsible for the incapacitation of a newly selected student of House Gryffindor, prior to the Sorting. As inclined as I am to let that matter rest, Professor McGonagall's personal interest in the matter does leave me little choice.'

Daphne seemed to cave in a bit, and Harry was quite worried himself.

'Therefore: Two points from Slytherin. Do enjoy the feast.'

Daphne looked doubtfully towards a prefect who sat two seats to the right of Harry, and who had obviously been listening in. 'Hey, Fawley! Is that much?'

The prefect chuckled. 'For breaking someone's nose? No! McGonagall would probably have taken at least fifty and added a month of detentions for good measure. Ah – I wish I could've been there.'

Draco was shaking with laughter, banging his goblet on the table in the process. 'You broke some Gryffindor's nose, Greengrass? I want to know _everything_!'

 _~BLHD~_

After they had satisfied themselves with the feast and the muttering across the hall grew steadily louder, Dumbledore stood up. The noise died down as if he had banished it from the room.

'My welcome, especially to our new additions! I trust you will conduct yourself in a manner befitting your house and enjoy your time at Hogwarts!' After a short pause he added, eyes twinkling, 'From now on, at least. I have a few notifications for you, and if you all would lend me your ears, I promise I shall try to be as short as any old doter can be. First years should be aware that the outer grounds, including the Forbidden Forest, are out of bounds. Our caretaker Mr Filch has also asked me to remind you that several items of new design have been added to the list of restricted goods. You may survey this list in Mr Filch's office–that is, should you feel interested in such matters.'

Raucous laughter broke out from some place down the Gryffindor table.

'As a last thing before I send you off to bed, we have two new appointments to the teaching staff this year. Firstly, as Professor Dillybles has decided to leave Hogwarts in search of further challenges after twenty years of dedication, I would like to introduce Professor Rose, who has kindly agreed to take over Defence against the Dark Arts as a temporary replacement until further notice.'

Dumbledore indicated a remarkably beautiful and fair woman of about twenty years on the end of the staff table–to the enthusiastic applause of the students. Tracey's remark, however, was clearly audible even over the ruckus.

'Seriously? _Rose_? Pur-lease!'

Harry was keenly aware of Daphne's watchful look, so he only deigned to bring his hands together twice, earning him a slight nod of approval from his left and a few snickers from the front.

'Also, it is my great regret to tell you that after a life of devotion to the profession and some more years later, Professor Binns shall no longer teach the subject History of Magic. I am very much delighted, however, to announce that his post will be taken over by Professor Prewett.'

Loud screams of rapture answered this announcement from three tables, as a sturdy and prim old gentleman entered the Great Hall from behind the teacher's table.

'No way, Rendall Prewett? You've got to be joking!'

'I didn't even know he was back in Britain! Can't wait to tell my dad!'

Similar outcries of glee were heard from nearly all over the hall. Harry, however, glared at the man coldly. Hermione noticed that both he and Draco greeted this appointment with not much less than open hostility. Clearly, Draco was having a hard time resisting the urge to pull his wand. 'I can't believe that old git! Prewett? Merlin...'

Harry, to Hermione's great surprise, turned to Daphne, and Hermione was startled to see that the girl had tears in her eyes. 'I'm so sorry, Daphne. I really did not know,' Harry muttered.

Hermione watched them exchange a pained look before Daphne took Harry's hand and let her head fall on his shoulder. And, for once, Harry did not object, patting her back awkwardly instead.

They stayed like this for quite some time, long after Dumbledore had dismissed the students.

Tracey–who had promptly joined them–and Draco held their tongues, which struck Hermione as quite odd from her limited experience with the both of them.

Finally, Harry spoke in a soft but strained tone. 'Come on, Daphne. Tracey will get you to our common room, and then you can either have a talk or jump straight into bed.' When she did not react, he added in a hoarse whisper, 'Can you imagine Amy's expression if she saw you like this?'

That seemed to do the trick, and Daphne hesitantly raised her head. It was clear that she had been crying, but she made a valiant effort to look haughtily at Harry through red eyes. 'And who would ever tell her? Malfoy's terrified of her, and you always try to evade her schemes.' She sniffed slightly and added, 'But thanks, anyway. And you know what? I think I'll write her about how much time I spent with you today. And you not being able to run away, just to annoy her!'

Harry grimaced embarrassedly, flashing Tracey a subtle glance. Not long after this, both girls were gone, and Harry turned to Hermione. 'Sorry, but I think it would be better if you left those two alone for tonight. Maybe she'll tell you later.'

'Ahm–alright, Harry. I think I'll turn in too, though. Some of the teachers have been giving us pointed looks for minutes, in case you hadn't noticed.'

When it was only Draco and him, Harry sagged back and took a few deep breaths.

'You okay, mate?'

'Yeah, I'm fine, Draco. But watch over the girls for me, will you? The matron wants me to spend the night in the infirmary, and I don't need some bullshit about Hermione's or Tracey's blood tonight. Scare them off or hex them to bits, have it your way.'

Draco nodded, but inclined his head ever so slightly. 'Why bother with Granger though? I know you had your fun getting a Mudblood into Slytherin, but are you sure you want to play her babysitter for the next six or seven years?'

Harry felt himself weakening by the second. The colours seemed to steadily intensify again. It was also decidedly hard to listen to Draco's voice over the menacing humming all around him. 'No. She will have to fend for herself–eventually. But I think I'll allow her a somewhat fair start. She may be useful later on. She could probably also keep some of the more unfriendly crowd away from me.'

Draco nodded, sudden understanding glinting in his eyes. 'She's your bait.'

'Yeah well, I have enough to worry about without those fools jumping me in my own common room. She'll lure them in, and I will finish them off; Hermione can't complain. Anyway, you know my view on such matters. While I personally am not the biggest fan of Muggle-borns, I recognise that we need some of them to improve our situation.'

Draco nodded again and relaxed a bit. 'You're pretty pale, you know. Sure you're fine?'

'Yeah, I'm fine. See you tomorrow, Draco.'

'Sure. Get better, man! You look like a wet blanket.' Draco turned around and walked towards the exit, but Harry called after him one last time.

'Draco, please make sure no complete half-wit tries to have his way with my trunk tonight. I am not too eager to start my body count on the first night of school.'

'Haha, I'll consider my actions based on who is stupid enough to try it, then. Wouldn't mind a few Notts or Yaxleys less. Have a good night, Harry.'

Harry had, of course, not put any wards on his trunk that might actually kill someone, but he could be sure that Draco would spread the word.

Harry managed to drag his progressively unresponsive body to the infirmary, but he had to pause several times to close his eyes and take a breath. He really needed to get this solved; he was a sitting duck on a silver plate right now. Merlin–he felt like some kind of potion sniffer.

With a humongous effort, he crossed the threshold to the infirmary and tried to act casually. Madame Pomfrey, as he had suspected, was already waiting for him.

'Where have you _been_ , Mr Black? I've waited for nearly an hour now!'

'Sorry, ma'am. Got lost.' It was a pathetic attempt, but he had other troubles right now. Keeping upright for starters.

'Well, sit down then. You look deathly pale, young man. Anything to say?'

' – Eh, blood pressure maybe, ma'am?' _Merlin, this is embarrassing. Being unable to even make up some story is the worst of it._

'Very astute, young man. Now, if you are quite done impeding your own treatment, we may actually get you better. Change into that pair of pyjamas while I fetch something to get you some rest.'

She made her way through a door in the back and left Harry alone. He changed and positively fell on the bed. Harry thought he should really solve this issue during the next week, as he doubted he could keep his sanity otherwise. Grimacing, he felt like he was diving into a vortex of strange sounds, shades and other impressions. The maelstrom pulled him away from the lights of the infirmary, far, far away...onwards.

 _~BLHD~_

He awoke early in the morning feeling surprisingly refreshed. The tormenting strands of light were hardly visible at the moment, and he was happy to leave it at that. Madam Pomfrey emerged like a fierce vulture spotting its prey.

'I found you half-conscious only a few minutes after I'd left! In the name of Asklepios, why do you refuse to tell me what's wrong with you?'

Harry shrugged. 'Sorry, ma'am. But I promise I will come to you should it get any worse. I do feel quite good at the moment. Much better than yesterday and certainly better than I had expected.'

Looks of confusion, incredulity and chagrin chased one another on her face, but she only shook her head. 'Mr Black, it is my duty to look after the well-being of our students, and I am more than willing to do so regardless of their wishes. If you do not cooperate with me, I'll be forced to keep you in the infirmary until further notice. Do you understand me?'

Harry deflated and tried his best to pacify her. He _did_ have confidence in her skills, after all. The position of Hogwarts matron was only offered to accomplished masters of their craft. His problem, however, was a bit too personal to share with someone not of the family.

'I am sorry, ma'am, truly. I have great respect for your work, and I do not only say this to spite you. The next time it gets out of control, I should be able to tell you more...maybe.'

Madame Pomfrey looked disappointed, her voice sinking half an octave. 'If that is truly how you think you should handle this matter... The next time you bleed all over the castle, I _will_ keep you here for a handful of days though, rest assured.'

Harry nodded. That was good enough. He would never have to tell her, even if he _did_ bleed all over the place, after all.

'I warn you, Mr Black!' she huffed. 'If you refuse to come to me, I am going to employ the services of Miss Greengrass, as she seemed most anxious to have me look you over.'

That was a very low blow as far as Harry was concerned. He answered in a low voice of resignation, 'Yes, ma'am.'

The matron flashed a small smile and nodded. 'Good. Now off you go, breakfast is being served right now.'

Harry was surprisingly hungry and quickly made his way to the Great Hall. To his relief, he found a chipper Daphne talking animatedly to Tracey. He walked a bit further down the hall and seated himself next to Draco.

'Oh, hey, Harry. You look better.' He grinned and added, 'Almost like some kind of sheltered little prince.'

'Very funny, Draco. Any trouble yesterday?'

'Nah, all fine. The older crowd seemed right amused by Granger's sorting. The smarter ones also realised they would have a bit more room to breathe with her around.' He casually pointed his fork in a direction, and Harry followed his gaze to Theodore Nott and some older students Harry did not recognise, though he suspected one of them to be a Shafiq. 'You may want to be careful around those, though. I think Nott is after the prestige of besting you. He is the fourth son of their house, and he looks eager to rise above his station.'

Harry nodded and thanked Draco. He was his cousin, too, of course, but Harry held a few reservations about that part of the family. He was easy to talk to and always very eager to help him, but Harry knew him to be a slippery piece of work. He did not think it likely that Draco would sell him out or anything, yet it was perfectly within his character to have his own plot in place, which allowed him to somehow benefit from Harry's presence.

'I also heard some Gryffindor shits in the hallway talking about doing the public some good and offing some Darkers, but it was impossible to tell if they were serious. You may want to keep the long-winded, half-dead excursions through the castle down for the time being, mate.'

Harry shot him a _look_ , but Draco only grinned. 'Aw, come on, Harry, don't be mad! Yesterday, you looked worse than at Greengrass junior's last birthday. Remember? The whole business with the pretend-marr...'

'Shut it! Hello, Hermione.'

Hermione looked curious and confused, while Draco grinned broadly. _That freaking Malfoy had to have seen her coming..._

'Good morning, you two. I've just been to the library. I can't wait to have a better look, you know. There were literally hundreds of rows. Sadly, some seemed off limits. Do you know what classes we have today? I can't wait to get started, this is going to be so exciting...'

Draco rolled his eyes, but Harry did not mind her lengthy descriptions of the library that followed or her speculations towards the curriculum. He himself felt rather inquisitive about these matters.

Hermione droned on, and all Harry had to do was nod a few times to have some peace. Absent-mindedly, he let his wand glide through his fingers, taking comfort from the familiar feeling of warmth that spread up his arm.

Half an hour later, Draco looked to be nearing his breaking point; Hermione had shifted towards him as the designated target of her rant, thanks to Harry's lack of responses. Luckily, Professor Hammernose chose that moment to hand out the timetables, and Harry could not help but groan.

'What kind of torture is _this_?'

The little piece of parchment had a nasty surprise for them that day:

Thursday:

Charms: Slytherin – Gryffindor

Transfiguration: Slytherin – Gryffindor

History of Magic: Slytherin – Gryffindor

...

Draco was on the verge of open revolt. 'You've got to be kidding me! Do they actually want to reduce the number of students by Friday? This is the " _Bloody Thursday of Murders_ ", I tell you.'

The professor turned around slowly and addressed Draco, a small smirk on his lips. 'Mr Malfoy, do your best to keep your rage at bay. If one of my students was found to be guilty of wallowing in the entrails of Gryffindors, I should be most displeased.'

Draco waited until their Head of House was out of sight and spoke in a low voice full of malice that didn't reach Hermione. 'Then we will have to do our best not to get caught.'

 _~BLHD~_

After breakfast, Harry, Draco and Hermione made their way to the charms corridor. Unkind whispers buzzed around them like insects drawn to the light, making the Muggle-born witch rather jumpy. 'Some of them look rather determined, Harry. I-I think you should be careful.'

Harry returned a mischievous smile. 'What are you talking about, Hermione? You are one of us now!'

She groaned, but did not reply. When they arrived at the classroom, Harry realised with a feeling of discomfort that there were at least twice as many Gryffindors as Slytherins in their year, even though they were the strongest age group in Slytherin for many a year. Looking around, he spotted Daphne, who patted the seat beside her and smiled brightly at him. Remembering his promise to her, he made his way across the classroom, feeling like a prisoner on his way to the gallows.

'Smile, Harry, smile! I'll do my very best to keep you in fine company on this beautiful day.'

Harry just managed to suppress a sigh, but could not help hearing Tracey and Draco, who seemed to share a table, snigger, obviously set to enjoy a free show during the lesson. Rolling back his sleeve, he loosened the grip on his wand and made a show of pointing it in Draco's direction; the laughter stopped immediately.

Daphne had seen this obviously, and her expression grew concerned. 'Do you still keep your wand in your hand wherever you go, Harry? I thought it had gotten a bit better recently...'

Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably, but kept his face clear of emotions. 'Yeah, well, it helps me calm down, you know.'

While Daphne did keep some measure of distance for now, the seating arrangement did not ease his mind at all. This, combined with the rather intimidating size of unfriendly glares, left him feeling slightly nervous.

'What could you possibly do with that wand anyway, Black? You try to make a big thing out of it, but I bet I could take you on anytime. I've had defence lessons, you know? Real instructions. Not the little family sessions you fucking Darkers need, because nobody wants to teach you loonies.'

Harry looked to his right and saw a freckled face full of disgust. The red hair was a hint, but he had seen this specific Weasley in Flourish & Blotts anyway. It was true that some of the prominent families nowadays received official courses at the leisure of the Ministry. He had heard rumours about how Aurors taught them, though it wasn't clear how much of that gossip was authentic. Only ten families or so directly qualified for this training in any case. The son of a Prewett, however, was likely included.

Before he had even considered his options, Daphne shot a furious and challenging look at her next would-be victim. 'Shut your trap, Spotty! I'm glad your pathetic excuse of a family could get you trained up, so we don't have to suffer your averageness, at least.'

But Weasley did not back off. Instead, he gave Daphne a nasty smirk. 'Speaking of pathetic, why are you sucking up to Black so much, "Greengrass"? Can't settle for one name or the other? It'll take more than getting laid to get back what you so obviously want, you know?'

Daphne looked ready to throttle him and jumped onto her seat, pointing her wand straight at Weasley's face. With a feeling of great regret, Harry realised that behind her livid facade, deep grief sprung from her eyes. Compassion for her situation rose to his mind, and he stood up as well, placing himself between Daphne and Weasley. The little ponce had said something he really shouldn't have...

'That is quite enough. Ten points from Slytherin, and ten points from Gryffindor. This classroom is no stage for impromptu duels!' Professor Flitwick, whom Harry knew of by reputation, had obviously heard more than bode well. He did not comment further, though, and strode towards the blackboard.

Weasley looked triumphant, as he had obviously hit close to home. He smoothly settled down with a nasty grin on his face. Daphne had trouble calming herself, but finally sat down, rather closer to Harry than strictly necessary, as if to spite the red-head's words.

Flitwick took out the register and professionally worked his way towards the end of it without giving anything away. After he had finished, he tapped his wand on the board twice, and the course aims for the next few terms turned up.

'This class will be quite busy without you jumping down each other's throats. I will not tolerate any hostilities, as we are on a very tight schedule. Needless to say, the magic you will be learning here may be of great use to you later, whether you wish to be an Auror, a Healer or take on any other high profile profession. Indeed, charms are the common ground from which many other magical arts can be derived. Many spells you may learn in your defence lessons, for example, are arguably charms. Enchanting and the Healing Arts also have deep roots within the theory of Charms, so you should pay great attention especially when learning the basics of the craft...'

Harry's thoughts drifted away. It wasn't that tiny Flitwick's little speech was uninteresting. In fact, he held deep esteem for the prowess of this wizard. Most unnervingly, however, it seemed the emotional turmoil he had suffered a few minutes ago had loosened his grip on the whole problem of maddening hallucinations. Currently, he was suffering from ethereal visions of a distinct glowing around most people in the room and strange sounds that floated in dozens of variants across the room. He was not easy to freak out in matters of magic, but having to hear nearly forty bodiless voices snarling and hissing in some strange tongue started to creep him out pretty badly. In a truly desperate attempt, he put every ounce of strength he had into his Occlumency. Incredibly and to his great relief, this seemed to dull his perception of these strange events a bit. And while they were still much stronger than when he had awoken, he could at least make out what was happening around the classroom again.

Daphne, to his immediate discomfort, seemed to have noticed that something was wrong and had leaned in, trying to have a look at his eyes. Whatever she had found there did not please her–at all. She painfully grabbed his arm and whispered to him, 'Harry, will you finally tell me what the hell is going on with you? I have only seen you like this once in all the time we have known each other. That one time, you know–the library business, after which you had to lie in bed for weeks. Frankly, you look terrible!'

In an even lower voice she added guiltily, 'And Malfoy told me how you nearly collapsed half a dozen times on your way to the infirmary last night. Merlin, I'm so sorry for not noticing, but will you please, please tell me what's going on?' She paused again, and added fiercely, 'I'll hit on you in front of the whole school at every meal until you tell me, you know?'

'Please don't! I really do not know myself, and stop looking like that, I swear it's the truth.' Harry made sure no one was listening and added in a small voice, 'If you really want to know, I'll tell you. But not in the common room! This has to stay between the both of us for now. No exceptions! We can have our talk in the old storeroom down by the infirmary if you so ardently insist. It's pretty far off the beaten track...'

'Of course I want to know, you stupid prat. Meet you there after dinner, and no excuses! I won't let you get away without telling me this time and you better beli-'

'What seems to be so urgent, Miss Greengrass, Mr Black? That was quite enough chit-chat for one lesson, or do you have any contribution to make towards the _actual_ subject? I should also mention that your continued lack of attention has been noted; maybe you should make an effort lest I be inclined to take measures.' Little Professor Flitwick seemed quite annoyed by now. Harry had somehow completely forgotten–again–that he was not having a discussion on private property. It was embarrassingly clear that he was not used to being in the company of people he didn't know. Daphne had obviously not paid any attention as well, so he was unsure what exactly to say.

'He can't do it anyway, Professor. It seems a bit mean to let him squirm like this.'

'Thank you, Mr Nott, but I did not ask for your personal opinion on the matter either.'

Weasley seemed to revel in their trouble, and Harry took some vigour from that. 'Eh, sorry, Professor. As you probably realised, I have not paid your subject the attention it warranted and have therefore not taken notice of your concrete instructions. I am truly sorry, I meant no disrespect.'

The class laughed, and many Gryffindors were gleefully awaiting Professor Flitwick's boiling point. The small charms master, however, to their general surprise, offered a sincere smile.

'Well, at least you're earnest with your failings. For your personal information, we were discussing levitation charms as an example of applied theory, and while I had planned on making you work on them in private in a few weeks, I will allow you the chance to redeem yourself, and Miss Greengrass I suppose, if you perform the charm at an adequate level right now for the benefit of your classmates.'

Harry hesitated. He was unwilling to reveal too much, especially in front of a member of staff and dozens of Gryffindors. The charm was not very advanced, of course, yet it would take an average student at least some hours to master it completely.

Conflicted, he let his gaze wander and saw Daphne looking at him with a playful smirk on her lips. Under the table, she suddenly laid a hand on his thigh suggestively. Harry panicked instantly, flicking his wand with the spell on his mind, quite forgetting to even mutter the incantation.

After a lightning fast gush of turbulent magic, half the furniture in the class and several Gryffindors rose to the ceiling, to general outcries of disbelief and cursing. 'What the...let me down this instant, you bastard!' 'Did the pampered prince really just do that?' 'Holy hell! That looks dangerous!'

Daphne had a very smug look on her face and stuck out her tongue at him. Hermione looked torn between annoyed surprise and excitement. Professor Flitwick switched from annoyance over honest disbelief to supreme delight; he chuckled merrily before waving his wand to cancel the spell, levitating the Gryffindors gently back to the floor.

'Bravo! Oh, Bravo! No wonder you felt confident enough to ignore the instructions, Mr Black. That was such a good show. I would have been very satisfied had you managed to even levitate your quill, but I do appreciate this most pleasant surprise. Take thirty points to Slytherin!'

The small man looked ecstatic now and rewarded Harry with a very big smile. As an afterthought he added, though clearly good-naturedly and in high spirits, 'Please do keep your chatting down to an acceptable volume though, Mr Black.'

 _~BLHD~_

'Way to show off, fucking half-blood pretender!' Someone bumped very heavily into Harry after the lesson had ended, and he turned around just in time to see Nott stalking away with one of the other first years.

'Cursed Notts. Seriously, they're a blight on Wizardkind. But don't you think you went a bit overboard, mate?' Draco had initially been laughing for minutes, but was now quite businesslike. 'I mean, it _was_ a good show, but I don't think you should draw this kind of attention.'

'Yeah, you are probably right, Draco. I did, eh, not really mean for that to happen either.'

Meanwhile, Daphne walked by, innocently chatting with Tracey, yet he could still make out that she was in a very fine mood indeed. Draco raised a questioning eyebrow, but Hermione interrupted his pondering.

'How did you _do_ that, Harry? You told me you read ahead on the theory of charms, but that was a very powerful application of the levitation spell, wasn't it? And I didn't even hear you say the incantation. On the train, I thought I simply didn't hear your low muttering, but this time I am certain you didn't even open your mouth! How is that even possible?'

Harry felt quite uneasy, being unmasked in his first class already.

'I, eh, truly think the whole thing was a mishap. But if you really want to know, as long as your concentration is good enough, and you have enough power to back it up, it does not matter what kind of targets you choose for charms, or how many for that matter. Casting without uttering the incantation is possible with any branch of magic. It just requires a good deal of discipline. And yeah, well, I did indeed tell you how I read ahead on the theory, but never did I state that I wouldn't be up to the task of making use of them practically. I thought your stay with Slytherins for a day now would have made you a bit more careful with matters of interpretation and indications, Miss Granger.'

Hermione looked grumpy, and she was not to be deterred like that. 'Like you can change the topic so easily. You make it sound like everyone could imitate what you just did, but I know enough of these things that I don't believe you one bit! Just how much do you know about charms? I want to know!'

'Some,' he answered vaguely, reminding himself of someone else who had used the same phrasing to him. 'I would rather not share.'

Hermione was seriously disgruntled by now and stepped into his sphere of privacy. She lifted an accusatory finger and tapped him on the chest. Harry immediately became very tense and could not keep a rising sense of panic out of his mind.

'No, Harry! You landed me in this mess. I won't allow you to back out so easily, that's just not right! Do you know how long it has been since a Muggle-born has been sorted into Slytherin? I checked: nearly 60 years, for your information. I have to live with all the hateful looks, from both Muggle-borns in other houses and the pure-bloods of Slytherin. You can't shoo me away like this!'

 _~BLHD~_

She stepped further in and could see his confidence crumbling.

To her surprise, he roughly pushed her out of the way and ran down another corridor. She blinked and distinctly heard Draco snarl, 'Great! Now you've really done it, Granger. Good job.'

She frowned, but eventually followed the mob of first years down towards the transfiguration department, as she had no way of knowing where he had escaped to and the lecture was about to start in a few minutes.

Hermione entered the classroom deep in thought, just in time to see Draco whisper something into Greengrass' ear. Whatever it was that he said caused the annoyingly gorgeous witch to shoot her an icy look of palpable fury. Confused, she sat down and thought that maybe she was in trouble. It had not seemed like a big deal to her, but Draco did look visibly angry and Greengrass was on the verge of strangling her if her gaze was any indication. Suddenly noting the tabby cat that sat on the desk at the front, she let out a squeak of surprise as it transformed before her eyes into the stern witch that had led the sorting ceremony. Remembering the place Harry had seen fit to throw her into, her earlier doubts faded a bit as she definitely had a rough deal herself. And Harry had not even apologised in any form for his behaviour! That frail milksop really was getting a rise out of her at times. He would switch so regularly between insecurity and pomposity. She'd seen him strut towards the Sorting Hat with a look of ultimate arrogance, as if all the attention didn't faze him _at all_. Which was the real one? His gleeful expression after seeing his scheme play out was too realistic to be a mere act, but at times his smile looked strangely strained.

Putting the matter out of her mind for now, she concentrated on Professor McGonagall, who tried her best to impart on them just how dangerous transfiguration could be if it was used unwisely. To demonstrate the usefulness of her craft, she conjured a flock of giant tropical birds that were promptly transfigured into a few dozen matchboxes. Hermione could not help but feel elation at this marvel of spellcraft and was eager to put in hard work. With newly emerging annoyance, she remembered how easily Harry had–in the blink of an eye–performed a feat of magic she'd previously considered impossible. Her jaw set, she felt her determination rise to new heights and was eagerly awaiting her chance...

Half an hour later, she was very proud when Professor McGonagall assessed her work as 'Excellent' and awarded Hermione with a thin smile and five points. She seemed to be doing really well compared to the rest of the class too, though by the end of the lesson several more had managed to transfigure the match.

As she was picking up her bag and went to the door, she found it blocked by Greengrass and Tracey. The bubbly half-blood was strangely serious, while Greengrass still emanated cold rage. Looking around, she found the classroom deserted and felt slight apprehension tingling in her gut. Tracey shot her best friend an unreadable glance, went outside and muttered, 'I'll keep a lookout,' before shutting the door softly.

The expression on the other girl's face was really scaring her now. This might have been why she instinctively fumbled for her wand, but in the end, found another stuck to her nose before she could even remember where she'd put her own. She tried to keep her voice calm as she shifted her field of vision, but the classroom was truly empty.

'Where is Harry?' Hermione was aware how awfully subdued and croaky her own voice was. She knew that he would most likely be able to calm her down before something serious happened.

In response to her question, the wand in her face began to radiate a foul red light, and Hermione came to the conclusion that this was evidently not the thing to ask right now.

'Oh, now you remember? Did you even realise he's been missing for the entire lesson, you fucking bitch?'

The other girl spoke quietly, but her dangerous tone made it clear that she wished nothing more than to shout or possibly hex her to goo. Likely both. Hermione delicately licked her lips and asked in honest puzzlement.

'You mean he wasn't here? But he was outside the charms classroom just then...?'

'How freaking stupid can you be, you rancid tramp!? He ran away, you did this to him, and you don't even fucking realise it. If only you knew how I long to beat you to a bleeding pulp right now...'

Hermione, however, didn't have any trouble believing that at all. It didn't take a genius to see Greengrass was quickly losing her cool. 'Er–you mean just because I stepped a bit further in and tried to force the issue with him earlier?'

'If you do that again, I will gut you in your sleep, Granger! How you ever got to be in good standing with him is completely beyond me.'

Hermione paled.

'If you ever try to abuse his weakness to women in that way again, I swear I will mince your body to bits and feed them to the rats in the dungeon.'

The girl seemed beyond fury. Slowly it dawned on Hermione that Greengrass had just very convincingly threatened her life. Tears began to flow down her face, but she tried with all her might to keep a level head and beat the increasingly animalistic instincts taking a hold of her.

'W-What do you mean, I was in "his good standing"?' she breathed.

The other girl roared a cry of hot anger and kicked with all her might at Hermione's knee. A sickening crack! A tenth of a second later, pain erupted down her leg, the world started wobbling violently, and she fell on the floor. Now howling in earnest, she could hardly make out the other voice over her own sobs and screaming, as she held her leg, tossing on the floor.

'How many other girls have you seen him talking to, you pathetic cunt? It took Tracey two years to get him to tolerate her presence. Two years! If you can't behave, STAY – THE – FUCK – AWAY – FROM – HIM!' That last sentence was actually screamed even louder than her own ongoing cries of pain.

Greengrass stormed towards the door, yet stopped in her tracks and turned one last time.

'You should really fix your attitude, Granger. Otherwise, I don't think you'll ever make it home again. Asking too many questions is not always appreciated, especially not about private things like magic, family or the past.'

She opened the door. 'If you so much as breathe a word of this, there is going to be _real_ trouble, Missie.'

Hermione continued to sob, but she did not even dare to stand up for fear of getting violently sick. And as the agony was slowly overwhelming her, she began to scream hysterically–panic of not being found crushing any coherent thought...

 _~BLHD~_

Tracey was throwing her nervous glances every now and then as they made their way towards the dungeons. _Merlin–I really lost it in there_.

Suddenly, her best friend stood in front of her and pulled her into a deep embrace. Daphne could feel a bit of tension leave her body. 'You alright, Sweetie?' Tracey's golden eyes were full of concern, her voice thick with emotion.

 _Fuck, now even Tracey's worried._

'Yeah...' She hugged the other girl back. 'Yeah, I'm better now. I really saw red just then. Can't believe that useless sack of flesh didn't even realise he was gone.'

Tracey just continued to hold her tight and stroke her back. 'I was a bit worried there for a while, you know? Being complicit to murder is not exactly how I imagined spending my first day at school.'

The 'soft' scolding helped calm her anger a bit, but with a feeling of despair, she felt hot tears gush down her face. 'I can't believe she made him go through that again, Tracey...'

She couldn't hold back any longer and began to shed tears without restraint. 'You know how long it took to even get him to where he was. Galloping Gorgons, I hope he's not clamming up all over again...'

She could not bear the thought, but deep down she knew how fast things could turn bad with old wounds. This thought only further increased her own anxiety; she could hardly keep standing and howled in misery.

Tracey held her fast and continued to softly pet her back and hair, but she just could not calm herself, thinking back on how bad things truly used to be...

She continued to wail for an eternity, until Tracey gently guided her into an empty classroom and pushed her into a seat.

'I'll be back in a minute, Sweetie, I promise. It'll be all better.'

She had run outside the classroom, and Daphne heard some hastily muttered spells thrown towards the door. Suddenly feeling very exposed and lonely, Daphne could not help but hang her head in shame as she crept towards the back of the room and tried to calm herself, tears still flowing endlessly down her face. She didn't even care any more that she had completely lost it two days in a row. Forcing Harry to comfort her that one time was far beyond forgiving and no doubt the worst of it all. Immersing herself in doubt and disgust, she didn't pay any attention to her surroundings until Tracey kneeled in front of her and offered her something to drink.

Like a lost soul in the desert, she drank clumsily whatever it was Tracey held out for her. After she had finished downing the whole thing, she felt Tracey sit down, putting an arm around her. Daphne just surrendered to her helplessness and drowned herself in the silent company of Tracey.

It took a while, but eventually, she managed to hold in the tears. Looking apologetically at her best friend, Daphne whispered in a cracked voice, 'I'm such a disgrace, Tracey.'

Tracey, however, simply smiled at her warmly. 'Nah–you're not. Holding up for now?'

'Yes, thank you...' She sniffed, truthfully not knowing what else to say. These situations always were highly uncomfortable for her. 'What was that stuff you gave me right now?'

'Right now? Daphne, you've been in here for nearly an hour now. I gave you our family special: Calming Draught spiked with the best Firewhiskey there is. My mother says it takes quite a bit of skill to blend two potions or a potion and any other beverage, but I don't know what the fuss is. Chucking all the stuff into the cauldron wouldn't even tax _my_ cooking skills.'

Daphne couldn't help herself and let out a subdued laugh. 'What should I do now? This is such a mess. If that Granger bod talks, I'm out of school tomorrow!'

'Let bimbos be bygones, Daphy. You should worry about Harry! He wasn't in the common room, and Draco said he hasn't seen him since charms. He's not been to lunch either. Do you have any idea where he may be hiding?'

Daphne gaped, experiencing a flush of shock and shame. _Oh shit, he wouldn't be there, would he?_

Fighting the newly arising panic, she pushed herself up. 'Oh no...Tracey, I have to go. Thanks! I mean it. I'll tell you later how it went...'

She ran towards the door but stopped short before turning towards her best friend who had a relieved expression and a grin on her face. 'You should be in History of Magic anyway, Tracey!'

She turned around the corner and could hear Tracey's faint snicker. She dashed along the corridor and down the stairs, jumping the last nine steps altogether and landing not very elegantly, but she couldn't have cared less right then. Left – right – right...Thank Merlin her gran had taken her to Hogwarts more often than she could count, so she did not run the danger of getting lost, at least. She tackled a few second years that stood in her way and didn't even bother looking back as someone grunted in pain and several others shouted after her in outrage. _Fucking little shits! Keep your head out of your arse, and maybe you could have avoided this_.

She ran and ran and ran until she finally arrived at the infirmary. Carefully peeking inside, she realised he wasn't there. _Oh no, oh no, please not that!_ She tried to ease her breathing and slowly walked towards the lonely storeroom. She'd never been inside andonsidering her many exploits during the summers here, that meant something.

With anticipation, she slowly crept closer and–to her dread–found the door knob drenched with blood. _Oh shit!_ Trying to rein in her raging fear, she opened the door...

As the place was completely dark, she remained standing by the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the lack of lighting. After her vision had improved a bit, she saw a trail of blood leading to the corner furthest in the back, where a huddled figure lay–quite still–with his head between his knees. She let out a scream of shock, but the person didn't react or move at all. Freezing emptiness seemed to creep into her head...

It took her a while to focus again on this one messed-up day. Thinking for a few seconds (and noticing tears welling in her eyes again), she turned around and sprinted back into the infirmary, only this time she didn't even _try_ to avoid any racket.

As soon as she had taken twenty steps into the bright room, the matron emerged from her office and looked at her in alarm.

Daphne tried to force her voice into some sort of semblance of calm. And failed spectacularly. 'Get me a Blood Replenisher, a Calming Draught, a potion against headache, something to get someone to warm up, and a pain reliever!' she shouted at the old matron.

'Calm yourself, young lady. Sit down, and we shall talk. This is all completely nat...'

It was too much for Daphne. Not even bothering to try holding back her tears, she screamed in a maniacal fashion at the feather-brained women. 'IT'S NOT FOR ME, YOU SENILE OLD CRONE! Bring it all here, or I swear I'll make you!'

She drew her wand, and the matron gave her a look as if she was truly demented. Her mouth opened and closed stupidly for a few times, and her eyes widened in shock.

Daphne snapped. 'NOW!' she cried in exasperation over the shattering of two windows, as she truly lost control of her rampaging feelings.

The sound of breaking glass seemed to restore the brain of the old hag, and she took a small pouch, hastily adding at least a dozen potions, draughts and some other things. Daphne couldn't care less, as she paced up and down the room and impatiently watched Pomfrey rummaging through the cupboards. After a minute or so, she thrust the thing into her hand, but did not immediately release her hold on it.

'Administer these, heeding the order which I packed them in. If he doesn't wake up within half an hour after dispensation, mere potions will no longer suffice.'

Daphne nodded, and the matron let go.

She flew back to the storeroom, towards the crouched figure she knew to be Harry. She noted the blood that was still trickling down his nose and had completely drenched his robes. Risking a bit of light, she spotted–to her great shock–that there also seemed to be an older trail of blood under his eyes and ears. Sobbing spasmodically, she forced the entire contents of the small bag down his throat, all the while trying to keep her shaking hands from letting go of the different vials.

After she had finished, she gently wiped his face free of his blood and her tears. After a while, his complexion seemed to get a bit better, and the bleeding slowed down, but he still didn't wake until Daphne was nearly desperate enough to get help.

Finally, his eyelids twitched, and she could feel the small body in her arms come alive again. His eyes opened, and, for once, she saw the terror and fright completely undiluted etched on his face. When his emerald eyes found hers, he relaxed ever so slightly, but with what must've been an epic struggle, he still backed away a few paces. It hurt her to see him like this again, yet there was nothing she could do. So she sat down on her heels again and watched him breathing loudly, evidently fighting to master his fears.

She leaned back, as relief and anxiety fought a stormy battle within her. Daphne tried to keep her snivelling to herself, but her emotions were so raw after the last few hours that she wasn't even sure any more how to react to anything.

'Water...'

She gasped at how lean his voice sounded. 'Lobbo!' she commanded to the thin air. A crack, and not a second later the relatively young house elf stood at her side. She wasn't _exactly_ allowed to call him here, but at the moment, that didn't matter. The elf looked at the both of them, his eyebrows raised in an expression of deep worry.

'Mistress called Lobbo?'

'Bring me a carafe of cool water and two glasses. No word to anyone of this!'

The elf snapped his fingers, and an elegant crystal jug with two equally pricey tumblers stood before her. Immediately, she filled one of them with water and slowly pushed it towards Harry. He picked it up and took a sip. She realised he was shaking pretty badly.

'A warm blanket, Lobbo!'

The elf snapped his fingers again, and a finely embroidered dream of cashmere landed over her. She folded it and held it at arm's length. Harry hesitantly took it, but crept back at once. With a flight of grief, she observed him smother himself completely in the piece of wool until only a bit of his face was visible.

'Something light but strengthening to eat and two sets of tableware, Lobbo!'

For the third time, the elf clicked his fingers, and a small assortment of snacks, warm soup, bread and fruit emerged in the middle of the room.

'Thank you, Lobbo. You are not to communicate with anyone about this, and you'll do your best to not arouse suspicion regarding this matter. If you are by strange happenstance busted, you'll tell Gran or my mother that I've forbidden you to speak of this matter, and that I'll personally speak to them about this. Do you understand?'

The eyes of the small creature grew very wide. 'Yes, Mistress!' was all he said before he left.

She began to fill a small bowl with the thin soup and put some peeled apple on a saucer. Once again, she carefully slid both 'dishes' along the floor towards Harry. After she had backed away and sat down again, he took hold of the bowl without any enthusiasm. Shifting her look, she saw his eyes now devoid of any outward emotion at all; they might as well have been dead. She shuddered slightly and felt deep remorse that this whole affair had come to pass, but forced herself to some small helpings of soup and bread, before ultimately leaning back in silence...

 _~BLHD~_

It must have been a bit more than leaning back, for when she suddenly jerked her eyes open again, she realised that she had a familiar blanket wrapped around her. All too well-known dread rose inside of her, and she hastily looked around. Thankfully, she instantly spotted Harry, who still cowered down in the corner of the room, watching her, his emerald eyes glowing in the dark.

She relaxed immediately.

 _This is so messed up. What to even say in this situation?_

'How late is it?' _Oh, you're a fucking genius, Greengrass._

'About midnight, I think.'

'WHAT? You let me sleep for half the day in here?'

'You seemed very exhausted. And I needed some time to think.'

'Really! And that's everything, is it?'

'I slept for a few hours, as well.' His voice was still coarse, but at least she didn't have to witness the eerie, emotionless void again.

'How come nobody came looking for us?'

'They did.'

Daphne raised an eyebrow. It seemed best just to keep the conversation going and see where it led them. He, however, only indicated a place a few yards behind her. She turned her head with a sense of foreboding, but could only spot a small old knife lying next to a broken table on the ground. With a shiver, she ignited her wand slightly and nearly screamed when she saw the blade full of dark red stains.

'Holy crap! Harry, what happened?'

He only shook his head and indicated the same place again.

Thinking it best not to argue with him right now, she hesitantly crawled towards the knife. As she came closer, she noticed several small splatters of blood on the floor. Her eyes widened again, and she gave Harry a timid glance before she made her way around the table, not daring to think what she might find there.

Harry's voice trailed softly across the room. 'Be careful where you place your hands, Daphne.'

Drawing slight comfort from him calling her by name, she stopped in her tracks and brought her wand closer to the ground without moving from the spot. With a frown, she recognised that what she had thought to be random blotches of blood did kind of form patterns. Her imagination must be playing tricks on her; if she really, really leaned in, some of them reminded her of very strange images or symbols. Something began to bumble behind her eyes as she studied the blood on the floor. Suddenly, with a jolt of dread, she had the impression that something else was staring _back_...

She jerked her whole body around and stared in shock at the frail figure in the corner.

'Sweet Morgana! You drew a ward in your own blood, Harry?' Her voice was but the barest of whispers.

'Nothing else to write with in here. Also, I had not tried that particular ward before, and it is quite complex indeed. Sadly, I was very sure that it would be beyond my present abilities, especially in my current state of mind, so I had to resort to...less reputable means to bridge the gap.'

She shuddered, but just managed to not freak out. Her father had once told her a bit about such things. It was hard to remember specifics; that conversation was so far in the past. A happier and more innocent time...

Turning back towards the blood on the floor, she could not keep a sense of wonder out of her voice, while still feeling overwhelmingly repulsed. 'It works?' Daphne beheld the presence of a genius.

'Yes, but only for one or two more hours. It took me a second try, and it was much more taxing than I had anticipated, in any case. I fell unconscious for a few hours and did only wake an hour and some before you came around.' His voice was even and sounded, above all, tired.

She turned around and could not keep the sadness from her eyes. He looked back at her and, as she crept close, did not back off. 'What does it do?'

'Keeps us safe from prying eyes...for now.' he answered calmly.

'Where...?'

Harry seemed to know exactly what she meant, and he rolled up his left sleeve. As he turned over his hand, she saw a long and ugly cut from the root of his thumb to the crook of his arm. Moving as if in trance, she took his hand and slowly brought the repulsive stigma to her forehead, suppressing her sobs and tears.

Between her frantic attempts to force some air down her lungs, she asked in a feeble voice, 'Pomfrey can get rid of this, can't she?'

Harry only calmly shook his head. 'No, I don't think so. There is also the chance that she recognises it for what it is if she is a bit too inquisitive.'

Daphne let out an involuntary wail and pressed his arm against her harder than ever. He winced slightly, but didn't stop her.

After a while, she gently let his arm fall to her side and took his hand in both of hers. Harry, meanwhile, deliberately raised his right hand and, to her amazement, tenderly wiped the blood and grime from her brow. It was very rare for Harry to touch her of his own volition, and a bit of warmth spread throughout her limbs. For what felt like ages, she managed her first small smile.

'How are you?' _Way to ask him after all the other stuff, dork._

'Better. But I doubt I can make my way down to the common room within the next few minutes. As I have learned through some rather painful experiences, it would be best if I did not overexert myself.'

She was just glad to have something to do, so she played with his hand a bit. After a while, she braved the question on her mind, albeit very cautiously. 'Does–does this have something to do with your...attacks?'

She was truly afraid he wouldn't tell her, but she somehow got the feeling his extreme exhaustion had left him a bit delirious and approachable. She felt slightly guilty about trying to wriggle it out of him while he was in this condition, but he _had_ promised her. Twice. Regardless, she could not have foreseen this particular 'answer'.

'How is your Occlumency?'

'What? You picking up mind-pilfering now, or what? I warn you, Black, one step into my mind and you'll be very so-'

He waved his right hand, which now held his wand. To her great annoyance, she felt the immediate effect of a silencing charm on her.

'Please, Daphne. I'm not up to arguing right now...' Harry mumbled weakly.

He looked only half-awake. She studied his face and thought he looked so much more vulnerable than when she'd last seen him on Tori's birthday, not so many weeks ago.

She deflated and tightened her grip on his hand.

Harry calmly repeated his question. 'How is your Occlumency?'

And with another wave of his wand, she felt the charm on her lift.

'Not too bad, I hope. Mother told me there would be some no-goods at Hogwarts who could not keep to their own mind, so she hired a tutor. So yeah, I studied it a bit beyond the mandatory stuff.'

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. She got the impression that he was trying to wrap something in words or maybe the other way around. He was truly hard to read sometimes.

His soft and faint voice brought her back to the present. 'I experience magic.'

She stared at him, stupefied. Those three words did not make any sense to her in this sentence. True...every wizard or witch worth their wand could, to some extent, feel when powerful magic was invoked. It was the same, only much, much weaker, as when you touched an enchanted or cursed object. You somehow just felt it. This was as fundamental as magic got.

'What do you mean, you feel it? All magicals can feel it, Harry.'

'No. I _see_ magic and _listen_ to it.' He gesticulated wildly, obviously unsure how to explain himself. He opened his mouth, but shut it again before sheepishly adding, 'I can smell it, too.'

She could not help but snort a bit. 'Smell the magic? Harry, are you sure you're alright? Maybe some of those potions went bad...'

'I myself only completely understood this a few hours ago, Daphne. Please, I _am_ serious here.'

His desperate tone caught her attention. Harry practically never begged. Well, not counting getting her to back off in some cases...

'I still don't understand, Harry. This is weird. Can't you give me an example or something?'

'Eh – yeah, sure. When I was home, I would always wake at night when Arcturus was working in his workshop or study. At the time, it was only colours or slight sounds or maybe a familiar feeling. That was is. Not any more, though...'

He looked like a puppy adrift at sea on a very small piece of wood. With termites.

'When I cast the _Silencing Charm_ a minute ago, I didn't just feel the rush of magic. I saw something white and utterly transparent erupt from my wand and form a bubble of sorts with you at the centre. It had a high pitched sound like a chime, but it was not very loud. It smelled of gooseberries, too.' Seeing her look, he added, 'Please don't ask about that. I don't understand these comparisons any better than you do.'

'How can something be white and transparent? And, for that matter, how can you see something completely transparent, anyway?'

'I really don't know.'

She had a peek into his eyes and only saw complete helplessness. She did have trouble believing him, but there was no trace of that devilish expression that always shone from his eyes when he was up to no good. As much as this bewildered her, there was absolutely no way she could not trust him when he so obviously asked for aid.

'Wow, that's so weird, Harry.'

'You do not know the half of it...' He seemed truly resigned.

With an attempt to lighten the mood she asked, 'Why–what's the weirdest thing you've seen yet? Try me!'

'Wands talking,' was his deadpan answer.

'What? They talk? For that matter, are they alive?' _This is unbelievable_.

'Eh...I'm not sure, to be honest. I think so, but it is difficult to tell for sure, as I fail to understand their...language? But I can to some extent have a guess at their mood or something like that.'

'What? Really? What's your wand doing right now?'

'Purring, I think.'

'And mine?'

He looked uncomfortable and started squirming a bit. 'I think it wants you to hex me to bits for some reason. That wand has been strangely snarky with me all day.'

Daphne raised an eyebrow. 'We _are_ talking about wands here, are we not, Harry?'

Harry visibly flinched. 'I think so. Please, Daphne! Not too long ago I only thought I heard bodiless voices no one else could hear, and now it's actually _worse_. I am hardly sure of anything at the moment!'

Daphne couldn't help but laugh. 'But this is incredible, Harry. Think how much this could help in all things spell-related! No wonder you are so proficient with wards, you can actually see them, can't you? I really wish I could see enchantments...'

To her surprise, he looked very grave all of a sudden. 'Do you have any idea how much magic is all around us at Hogwarts?' As if in memory, he suddenly lifted his free hand to cover both of his eyes.

It took her a while to understand, but when she did, she grasped his hand so tightly that he let out a small whimper of pain. 'Holy...! Harry! Is that why you tried to shut your eyes before the Sorting?'

He only nodded and looked at her like some brat caught pranking. 'That was the first time I was assaulted with all the impressions. It was even harder to make any sense of it back then. It's gotten somewhat better now. Until I get really exhausted or...'

His voice faded away and it looked like he had said something he didn't initially mean to divulge. But now that she finally had him talking, there was no way she'd allow him to hold back.

'Spit it out, Black!' She gave him a fierce look and he relented, as she'd known he would.

'Or emotional upheavals, it seems,' he mumbled. 'Back in charms, I noticed how Occlumency helped me a bit just as I was having a small 'attack', as you call it.' His voice sounded apologetic, and she knew he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable about this. That did indeed go a way towards easing her guilt–but only a little. With a pang of shame, she remembered how often she had sought him out at school to make him squirm. In the course of one day, no less.

'I'm really sorry, Harry. It's just that I've really been very much looking forward to seeing you here. I know I've been going a bit overboard at times, and I realise this isn't easy for you, but you're always so much on guard around us at home. You should see Tory! She's giddy with anticipation right now, just because I wrote her a few lines about you; how you were unable to flee from me all the time at Hogwarts and how much time we get to spend together...'

This seemed really painful for him, but she was very glad that he was, at last, ready to talk about it for a bit. 'Sorry, I...I really hate this, but it's just not that simple, you know.' After a short pause, he added with a sigh, 'Well, I think it may become slightly more bearable concerning you, at least, but please don't push me with this; it will have become slightly less painful when Tory finally comes to Hogwarts, I hope.'

That, finally, was a hopeful sign, and so she managed to put her worries to rest. Apparently noting her relaxing a bit, Harry continued, 'That whole Granger business was, as a matter of fact, not as bad as it would have been in the past. I, eh, would likely just have shut myself away for a few hours or days. But now any panic attack automatically triggers a complete breakdown of my concentration, and the whole castle hammers away at my mind. This in turn only increases my state of panic and you know–that's how it got so bad.'

'Don't worry, Harry. Granger won't bother you like that again.' Seeing his look, she added, very much embarrassed that the memory of her losing it with the silly girl still looked pretty bad in hindsight. 'But please don't ask. I, uh, I may have overdone it a bit, but I think it'll be fine.'

 _Way to convince yourself, Daphne. Good job!_

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow, though he refrained from asking. Instead, he brought his hand to his temple and groaned lowly. 'Merlin, what was in those flasks anyway? I've been feeling like that one time Cranky indulged my curiosity about Firewhiskey.'

 _Ha – knew he wouldn't have been so loquacious normally. Maybe I should put a serious effort into potion, after all. They seem to be pretty useful..._

Realising her giggling seemed to make him slightly wary, she smiled kindly and waved a hand in a vaguely dismissive fashion. 'Oh, I just hadn't heard that story yet. Yeah, those were some potions that, uh, were bestowed upon me by Madame Pomfrey.'

 _That may be stretching it a tiny bit again, Daphne._

Harry seemed equally unconvinced, so she gave in to him–and herself. 'Okay, fine! I screamed at the top of my lungs and threatened her at wandpoint. I may also have destroyed a few windows in the process. Happy now?'

He chuckled and shook his head. 'I'm really not sure which one of us is in deeper trouble after their first day of school.'

He tried to stand up, and she immediately pulled him up, still clutching his left hand. 'Let's go. I think it is past one now. This could get ugly if we get caught. Also, I cannot just leave the ward; others may make a connection with me or about my abilities, especially if I'm ever forced to use it again. But once I destroy it, whoever controls these wards around us will become aware of a general disturbance in their own defences.'

'What? Your ward also protected us from the headmaster?' It was hard to keep a slavish look of longing from her face. _How good was this?_

He simply nodded. 'Yes, I told you it keeps us from prying eyes. But please be realistic in your expectations, Daphne. I highly doubt I will be able to cast that ward through conventional means for some years to come.'

She smirked and nudged him playfully, 'Aw – come on, Black! Get a move on and put some work into your warding. This one seems useful. How difficult can such a teensy ward really be, anyway?'

He looked her straight in the eye. Though she knew he could spot the waggishness, he still shook his head. 'Difficult enough that Professor Flitwick would probably personally sign my NEWT papers in an instant, and take me on as his private apprentice if I could perform it for him in class through regular means, dearest cousin.'

She kept looking at him, aware how much she must be goggling, as he silently flicked his wand and the blots of blood on the floor first began to disperse and then suddenly caught fire.

'Let's go!' he muttered softly.

 _How can he have so little confidence with skills like his? This is so infuriating! Sometimes I really just wish to hex him good._

 _~BLHD~_

Thankfully, they found their way back to the dungeons without any random encounters, and Harry was feeling the best he'd been yet since entering Hogwarts. That may be in part due to the potions that made him feel light-headed and thick as a troll, but he was _fine_ with that. For now. He knew he would never have told Daphne so much otherwise. For some strange reason, he just couldn't bring himself to regret it.

She gave him a brief hug, and he fought hard against the urge to give a nervous twitch. He did not quite succeed, but it could've been worse. She didn't comment, at least.

'Thanks for everything, Daphne, really. I...I'm not good with this whole talking thing, but it wasn't so bad this time. Still, we should try to get some rest now, I think. We'll be in heaps of trouble tomorrow, anyway.'

His cousin gave him a warm smile and finally let go of his hand. 'Sure, Harry. I enjoyed our talk as well, though next time I wouldn't mind it being slightly less dramatic, without the casual displays of blood magic and sans any existential crisis involved, promise?'

She gave her usual wink, and he could only grin oafishly in return. 'Yeah, alright.'

'Ha, got you. Did you just agree to have another long personal talk with me? Why thank you for the offer, I think I shall take you up on it, dear Harry.' He could only return an incredulous look as this wily cousin of his made her way towards a staircase, the girl's dormitories presumably. But she turned around once more.

'Oh – and one Galleon on me that I'm in waaay more trouble than you. I mean, sure you _tried_ , with your meagre attempts at forbidden magics and skipping out on pretty much all of your classes on your very first day, but I think I still win out, as you didn't even bodily threaten a single person the entire day. Better luck next time, Harry!' She blew him a kiss and left him standing there like a puppy in the rain.

It took him a while to finally wrap his mind around the absurdity of her words. _Yeah – that was the famous Black family humour alright._

Slowly making his way towards the other staircase, he eventually found the dorms for the first years. Even his alarmingly lulled senses insisted on him being silent. He was very aware how the entire front of his robes was drenched in blood and would not have looked out of place at a particularly enthusiastic public butchering. _One does have to be mindful of such things lest one be caught in compromising situations_. Feeling quite smug about himself, Harry entered the dormitory – only to find the motionless and bloody form of Theodore Nott sprawled on the floor before his trunk.

...

...

...

 _I knew I should have raised Daphne's wager._


	7. HD: Ploys at play or Of psychotic

**Ploys at play _or_ Of psychotic nutcases**

* * *

Harry stood stock-still for at least five minutes. Giving his Occlumency some leeway, it was hard not to panic as he realised that Nott had not a single strand of magic in his whole body. Harry looked around. His trunk glowed ominously, and the others in the room had their very own specific sets of colourful layers around them. Only Nott was completely bare of any personal magic. Swallowing hard, Harry directed his wand towards the other beds and felt several whirling cloches of pure magic leave the tip of his wand, smothering his roommates. He tried to ignore the content purring of his wand as he once more concentrated on his Occlumency and began to think as hard as he could.

Finally, he sighed.

'Cranky!'

As if he had been awaiting the order, the small elf apparated onto his bed before he had even finished calling his name. Cranky looked most eager and hastily surveyed the room to anticipate Harry's needs, eventually spotting the crumpled figure of Nott and raising an eyebrow.

'Cranky sees Master Harry has been busy. Should Cranky dispose of this?' He seemed completely serious, indicating the body of his classmate.

'Please don't joke about that, Cranky! This is serious.'

'Maybe Cranky should finish off the others for a clean sweep, then?'

Harry winced. He knew this was the old creature's way of playing with him, but it had been a very long day. This was completely beyond him.

'Cranky, I really need your help, please!'

The elf nodded and jumped from the bed. Then he slowly strode towards Harry's erstwhile dormmate without even a hint of worry in his demeanour. Harry relaxed a bit. He'd never seen the elf panic in any way, and never had he failed to get him out of trouble. This was certainly the most trouble he had ever been in, of course, but there was still hope...maybe. Slowly, he came to realise that Nott was really dead, and he comprehended what this could spell for him. _Oh shit!_

Harry tried to calm himself and sat down. With all his might, he focused on the calmness of his mind; right now, neither guilt, panic nor explosive impressions of stray magic would help him solve this disaster.

Cranky, meanwhile, bent over the small body with a thoughtful expression. Next, he inspected Harry's trunk, frowning suddenly. 'Master Harry has not changed the warding design of his trunk in the last hours, has he?'

Harry was perplexed by this question. It would take even him half a day to completely unravel all the wards that were interwoven on his trunk. 'No, of course not. I've had quite enough on my mind; this day has been absolutely horrible! Has someone messed with them?'

'Not exactly, Master Harry. But the trunk bears traces of compulsion magic, as does this boy. Cranky is sure that someone used Master Harry's trunk as a kind of death trap to get rid of that repulsive boy. Normally, Master Harry's wards would try to repel any wizard foolish enough to pry with strong suggestions and mild pain to the mind, yet this one was forced to try again and again and again.'

Harry was flabbergasted. Someone had used his protections to do their dirty work? He would have been impressed if he didn't feel the tightness around his chest worsening.

Cranky glanced into his eyes and probably saw that he wasn't in the best of conditions right now. 'Master Harry will have to act, and soon. The evidence is fading fast and will be gone within the hour.'

Harry nodded. It was difficult to settle on whoever could get him out of this. Students would not do, and house elves were hardly 'people' in the public's eyes. He knew whom not to trust, but it was difficult to state one person of staff he could show even a modicum of confidence. He sighed, but there really was no choice.

'Cranky, go to Professor, eh, Hammerconk. He's the potions master here. Wake him, and take him with you to the common room. If he refuses, drag him along anyway, but do not tell him anything except that there has been some kind of accident.'

The elf nodded and popped away. Harry would have to be fast as he could be sure Cranky was more than that. He had decided to play it safe and not lead the professor directly into the dorm. That way, he would have a few minutes to try to explain as much as he could.

As he flew down the stair, he could already hear muffled shouting.

'Unhand me at once, elf. I command you! How dare you do this? If this is some kind of joke, there will be the direst of consequences...'

As soon as Harry appeared on the landing, the Potions Master and Head of House swirled around frighteningly fast and pointed his wand at him, a fierce glow of silver already visible at the tip. The green shadows of the common room basked the professor's face in a dangerous light, and it was easy to see just how close this man was to letting his spell go.

'Mr Black!' he spat, not lowering his wand. 'You have three seconds before I send you to sleep on the cold floor for the rest of the night.' He sounded quite serious.

Three seconds were a bit less than what Harry had hoped for, so he blurted out the first thing on his mind.

'Nott is dead.'

That seemed to get the man's complete attention, at last. He didn't lower his wand, but his cold face grew even icier still in a plain attempt to suppress his emotions.

'Explain yourself!'

Harry did not see any way to ease the trouble he was in other than by sticking to a bit of truth, and so he carefully walked to a seat by the fire and closed his eyes in concentration before finally speaking some well-chosen words.

'I was out of bounds for the night. Once I returned not fifteen minutes ago, I found him lying before my trunk. As I am aware of the protective enchantments placed on them, I suspect someone may have forced him to try to overwhelm them by brute force. I would appreciate it if you yourself could have a look, Professor.'

The man had a calculating look in his eyes, but abruptly turned towards the dormitories in a matter of seconds. Harry shrunk back and tried to relax as best he could. The fire crackled merrily, but it all seemed so wrong. _How can one day turn so bad? Sweet Morgana, I hope I don't have to endure seven years like this._

He had not closed his eyes for long when he heard the voice of his Head of House call him from the bottom of the stairs. 'Mr Black, you can rest later. I had a first look, but I have questions. Follow me, now!'

And so–barely half-awake–Harry trotted up the steps again. He heard the old elf following him and was glad for that. The professor indicated that he should take a seat on his bed, and so he did, quite thankful for the opportunity to relieve his legs.

'It wasn't me! I swear, Professor!' he muttered piteously.

'Keep your wits about you. I know for a fact that it wasn't you who did this. I have evaluated the circumstances, and your suspicions seem to be correct. The situation will nevertheless spiral out of control if we do not take certain measures at once and _before_ I inform the Headmaster. You will do as I say and ask no questions, are we clear?'

Harry nodded. It seemed that the professor was keen to sweep this under the carpet–to the extent his authority allowed him, at least.

'Good. You will now clear your trunk of all contraband or family items and leave only completely inconspicuous items of necessity therein.' He shot Harry a look and added dangerously, 'At once!'

Harry strode towards his trunk and opened it.

'Cranky, take any items of family background to the estate for now. Hide them wherever. You may leave all items of purely aesthetic or practical value that is strictly related to school business.' The old elf nodded and clicked his fingers.

His Head of House seemed agreeable as well and turned towards Harry.

'What happened to your robes?'

Harry started with shock, but tried to answer as well as he could.

'This is my own blood. Madame Pomfrey is aware of the problem. This is part of the reason why I was out at night.' He inspected his sentences and nodded confidently. He could always just lie to the man, but that seemed so clumsy. _It seems that I've picked up more from my grandfather than I had initially thought..._

The Potions Master flicked his wand and muttered something. Harry's robes began to glow, and shortly thereafter, the man nodded.

'It seems your story is good enough for now, or at least, it is indeed your own blood. Change out of it right now, and have the house-elf destroy it! Even in a cleaned state, it will implicate you of using magic outside of the dormitories, as I doubt your stroll was entirely innocent.'

Harry could not help but look at the man completely dumbfounded, receiving a sneer in return.

'Please, Black. Do you take me for an imbecile? I do accept your story only because it would be much too foolish to play _two_ plots on the same night. You may not be aware, but I know whenever the entrance to the common room opens after hours. Now get on with it!'

Harry turned and changed into another set of robes. With a jolt, he remembered his attempts at magic that night and was thereafter very careful to not show his left arm.

'Cranky, please dispose of this set of robes, and bring me another one the morning after the next.'

The elf nodded again and snapped his fingers.

'Good, now send your elf away and follow me to my office. You will stay there no matter what other members of staff will tell you to do. Not even the headmaster has the authority to overrule me in matters of security for my students. Are we clear?'

'Yes, sir. Thanks, Cranky!'

The old elf bowed, giving Harry a long look of worry. 'Cranky lives to serve the House of Black.' Not a second and one last pop later, the wily creature was gone.

'By the way, are those your charms on Mr Malfoy and company?'

'Eh, yes, sir.'

The man only raised an eyebrow, but did not ask any further questions. 'Good, they will be useful. Keep them in place, but clear your wand by casting at least thirty attempts of spells you should have learned in class this day or used on the train in the correct order of events. Begin once you are in my office.'

The man gestured for Harry to step out of the room and started a strange sweeping motion with his wand that Harry couldn't quite place. He did feel a destructive whirlwind of magic, but as he didn't allow his Occlumency to break down even an iota from his maximum capacity, it was impossible to place the blurred impressions that sprang from the man's wand. It was like static.

Afterwards, he pointed towards the door of the common room, and Harry started walking. He heard the soft muttering of identification spells and other potion related craft behind him and knew the man must be attempting to clear himself of the last spell he had done. Shortly before they arrived at the Potion Master's private office, he was stopped, and a hand on his shoulder turned him around.

'One last thing, Mr Black. If you ever call me "Professor Hammerconk" or teach your servants to do the same once more, you will be very sorry indeed.'

Harry's eyes grew wide, and he tried to keep calm. _Oh damn, another one I will have to play nice with._

'Sorry, Professor, I apologise. We have not been introduced yet, as I was in the infirmary last evening...'

'I realise that, and you should be very grateful for it. I am Professor Snape, Black, and I'm very much looking forward to your stay at our school. It promises to be quite eventful, granted you survive the coming years, of course. Now, into the office and not a word to anyone. If McGonagall or the Headmaster ask you what you were doing here, tell them you had detention for skipping classes. No – other – word out of your mouth, understood? If we're lucky, we may even avoid you being questioned by the Aurors.'

 _~BLHD~_

Harry had never been so exhausted in his entire life. The time of unconsciousness in the store room had brought no real comfort; he had almost died from exhaustion at the time, though he had been careful to play it down with Daphne. _Damn, my arm still hurts like it's aflame._

As he sat, eyes drooping, in the chair by the fire, casting some random barricading and levitation _c_ harms, he tried to think about the events that had happened in the last two days. It all had happened so fast, too much information in too short an amount of time. Others may have thought this an advantage, but usually, it was much easier to differentiate worthwhile from inconsequential information if your days were rather uneventful. But too much had happened during the last thirty hours. That he'd only been paying attention during some of those parts due to his efforts to not pass out all the time didn't help. If any hint that would be necessary to solve this mess had been given to him while he had been otherwise preoccupied with the struggle for his sanity, he was truly lost. Daphne would try to help him, he was sure, but his close relations with her would be known to anyone, and he would be quite offended if he'd been tricked by a puppet master stupid enough to let something slip in her company. He should not cast the possibility completely out of his mind, but it would still be wise to consider other things first.

Hermione...was out of the picture for now. He knew he would not be able to casually approach her for a while, and Daphne would not allow it, in any case. There was also the small matter of Daphne's 'persuasion'. He knew how protective that cousin of his was, and she wasn't even the worst of the lot in that regard, only the boldest. While she may scream and not shirk from public displays of violence, Amy would probably have taken a rusty knife, crept into Hermione's room in the middle of the night and scared her into complete submission with a sincere and persuasive display of mild torture...

Yeah, he was very glad that no Lestranges were involved for the moment, as Hermione _would_ be useful later. It was true that she was a tool to lure the more stupid Slytherins into a trap, but that wasn't everything by a long shot. He really _did_ intend to make things better around here–or at least more to his liking, he mused. Now she would have to fight her own battles. Maybe Tracey would take her under her wing a bit. She was much too kind for her own good, but if Daphne caught wind of that and objected, there was little doubt where her priorities would lie. The matter of imminent danger to him in the common room seemed to have solved itself on its own; while there was little doubt in the matter that he _had_ a very fervid enemy at large who would probably have succeeded in blaming Harry for Nott's murder had he not been out of the dormitory at the time, the more stupid little worms would give him a little space now. Whatever the investigations yielded, others would not overlook his involvement in the matter, and fear was something he could live with. It was better than open hostility, at least...

 _~BLHD~_

He must have finally fallen asleep at some point, as he was roughly jerked awake by a harassed-looking Professor Snape. 'Get up, Black! No rest for the wicked.'

Harry rubbed his eyes and tried to smooth his robes. 'How did it go, Professor?'

'It could've been worse. Your name came up, but I was able to give plausible evidence that you were with me at the time of the incident. For the time being, you have avoided the attention of Madame Bones, though I do not deny that she seemed most eager to get you roped into this. It somehow seemed an affront to her office that a Black was freely walking around.'

Harry nodded. The old man had always warned him about her, how gladly she would take any chance at all to destroy the last vestiges of the Blacks.

'Make yourself presentable, so as to not embarrass your house and proceed to the Great Hall. Breakfast is served as we speak, and you will partake in _all_ lessons today! Am I understood?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Now get the hell out of here. I should warn you, though, that word has gotten out that it was your trunk that was involved in the, ah, regretful episode of last night.'

Harry could not help but feel a moderate amount of trepidation.

'I understand, sir. Thank you for your assistance in this matter.'

Suddenly, the professor had jumped across half the room and violently grabbed his left arm.

Harry winced, trying hard to ignore the sharp pain.

'Listen very carefully, Mr Black! I am no man's servant. I did what I did because I refuse to be pawn to any political ploy, do you understand me? If ever you are foolish enough to try and involve me in any plot of yours, I will do my _utmost_ to return the favour. And you may find my problems a bit more severe than the childish games you little fools are so keen on playing!'

Professor Snape threw him backwards, and Harry stumbled, but just managed to keep standing.

'I understand, sir. I apologise if my careless words have offended.'

'Get going then!' The man turned around and marched towards his desk.

Not keen on his company for the moment, Harry hastily made his way towards the hall.

 _Merlin, did he have to grab my arm like that? If being implicated in murder is child's play to him, then I can indeed do without partaking in his 'problems'..._

 _~BLHD~_

Harry paused before entering the Great Hall and forced his countenance as hard as he could into a blank expression. He must not let up; he must not relent for one second. Weakness would not help him here. It might also be prudent to distance himself a bit from other people for a while to limit the damage to their reputation and family; depending on how the whole situation turned out, the political fallout could be immense. With a sense of foreboding, he imagined Daphne's reaction to his decision, but there really was no choice in the matter. It really was much smarter this way, surely she would see the logic of this...

Carefully arranging his face into an expression of supreme indifference, he opened the door and strode towards the Slytherin table.

The hall was eerily silent, and the students sat in groups, fiercely whispering about the latest news, no doubt. The headmaster and most of the staff were absent, but Harry spotted some Aurors discreetly standing in the corners in their stead. As soon as he had entered, all the eyes in the hall had turned towards him, and the angry muttering rose to alarming levels. It was especially bad when he passed the Gryffindor table.

'Can't believe how smug he looks. I guess I don't really mind the Darkers finishing each other off, but look how he doesn't even care that he murdered another student on his first day of school. Freaking psychopath, that one is...'

'How come he's not suspended, or in front of the Wizengamot, for that matter? Everyone heard how Nott challenged him; it was obviously revenge!'

'Have you seen him wearing the crest of his filthy house while he struts about? Can't believe he is actually proud of those lunatics...'

'Well, look at the crowd around him, man. Nutters the whole lot of them. Can't believe we have to suffer so many Slytherins this year.'

'Calm down, little bro. There is always hope. It's one slimy snake less already.'

'Yeah, but how come Davis, Granger and Greengrass even talk to him? I mean Malfoy is a little piece of pompous shit, but some of the girls look rather nice, if you ask me...'

'Ha – come off it! Would you really do a Slytherin? Groooosss!'

Harry tried his best to not let his irritation show. He knew they were not even bothering to keep their voices down in an attempt to provoke him. The Slytherins all scrutinized him rather carefully but did not allow their thoughts on the matter to be instantly readable. Even though he saw Draco and Daphne sitting further down the table, waving at him, he seated himself opposite some fifth year prefect he kind of remembered from the Sorting.

'Morning, Black. You seem better than I would have thought.'

'Yes, whatever. Fawley, right?'

'Yup. You may want to keep your head down for a while, Black. Friendly advice.'

'Sure.'

She did not seem irritated by his attitude and took it in stride.

'You know Greengrass, don't you?'

This made him look at her for the first time. She had long, curly blond hair and shiny dark eyes. She looked inquisitive, but did not seem the prying sort. She likely had had some business with that part of his family.

'That is correct.'

'I would appreciate it if you could keep her out of your mess. Some of those _Pillar_ blokes look like they mean business.'

This did not surprise him, so he just plainly answered, 'I intended to do that in any case.'

'Good man.' She took her bag and stood up. 'The other Slytherin prefects and me are of the opinion that you should solve your own business. However this plays out, we won't intervene. Obviously, we'd prefer an outcome that wouldn't further damage public relations or implicate families of note. Thought you might want to know.'

He just nodded. This was both good and bad news, as he was somehow given free rein at the cost of being forsaken. She gave him one last look and strode away. 'Well – try to stay alive, Black.'

When he had finished a humble meal, he tried to casually sneak out of the hall, but someone had been waiting for him at the door and managed to grab the scruff of his neck.

'What the-'

He spun around, wand in hand, but found himself face to face with his cousin, who smirked crookedly.

'Thought you were on guard, Harry. That was pathetically easy, you know?'

She grabbed the sleeves of his robe and dragged him into an empty classroom.

'Eh...are you sure it is a good idea to talk in here, Daphne? This is not exactly private, so close to the Great Hall.'

'Oh, you prefer privacy, Harry? I think there is a broom cupboard down the hall if that's more to your liking?' She looked like she meant business. He must have angered her somehow.

'Uh, i-is everything alright, Daphne?'

She kept her distance, but her ocean-blue eyes sparkled with determination.

'Don't ever ignore me like that again! If you don't wish for my company, then have the damned guts to tell me so!'

He allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. It was true that while he may have run away from her quite often, he had never outright ignored her, especially not from a safe distance. This, however, presented an opportunity for him, something that was even more painful to him than her closeness. Hating himself for what he was about to do, he steeled himself, killing all the bubbling emotions that he associated with Daphne and forced his entire demeanour into casualness and relaxation.

'Then please mind your own business, _Greengrass,_ ' he said with an emotionless voice.

'Wh-What the hell are you talking about, Harry?' She looked shocked and lost a bit of her fervour.

'You said that I should tell you if I wanted to discontinue my association with you. Well, stay away from me, Greengrass!'

Harry's mouth tasted like ash. She looked like he'd slapped her, and he could see her eyes searching his, desperately looking for the hint of deceit. He couldn't remember ever calling her 'Greengrass' like that and knew this was a low blow that would hurt her badly. _That memory_ still haunted her – him, too, for that matter. He was truly sorry for this, but drastic measures were required to have her back off. Her usual defiance seemed to slip away, and with a pang of regret, he could see her eyes getting moist.

It would have been so much better if she had shouted like her usual self, but she seemed unable to bring herself to do it. After their close talk yesterday, this must be especially hurtful, but he couldn't relent now. It was essential to keep family safe.

As her first tears sprang forth, she flung a single coin towards him and dashed out of the room. With a hot squirm in his guts, he remembered their bet and the precious time they had spent together not so long ago...

 _~BLHD~_

Harry's mood was at a record low. He had noticed how the Aurors seemed to tail and escort him to his lessons, whether for investigational purposes or his security he could not say. Daphne's dejected and Tracey's annoyed glances didn't help, but he forced himself into indifference. He doubted if anyone except people of comparable calibre to his grandfather's would've picked up on his inner feelings. The girls were quite good at this, usually, albeit not really at Arcturus' level yet.

Realising his thoughts had strayed to his cousin again, he became a bit irritated with his lack of discipline and took a seat in the back of the room. He focused his mind hard on the coming lesson. He was indeed quite interested in this new professor, same as half the class, apparently. His reasons were likely different, though; he had seen most of the boys drooling after Professor Rose in the corridor. _He_ was more intrigued by her background. She held herself with an air of dignity, and while there were quite a few half-bloods or Muggle-borns that did the same, it nevertheless often indicated other origins. Rose, however, was no name of old heritage–in Britain at least. He might have to do more research on the matter and was glad for anything to do to keep himself occupied.

His thoughts were interrupted when Draco entered and exchanged glances with Tracey. They tried to be subtle about this, but Tracey put on an act she had likely seen in one of those strange Muggle motion pictures. It was not hard to guess what they had talked about prior to the class and–sure enough–Draco settled himself next to him with an air of extreme friendliness and comradeship.

'Hey, mate, how's it...'

He would have to do something about this source of contact as well. Draco was a good deal sneakier than Daphne, so rough measures would throw him off for a while.

As if to return an overly friendly greeting, Harry put his arm around Draco's shoulder. What his classmates couldn't see, however, was that his wand was currently nestling perilously against Draco's throat. It was quite clear that the young Malfoy had noted this, on the other hand, as his eyebrows frantically lifted, and both of his hands shot up in an offer of surrender.

Harry steadily increased the temperature of the tip of his wand with a minor heating charm while catching Draco's eyes.

'Hey, "mate". I'm sure you wish to keep this conversation short, so I'll make this very clear to you.'

He could see his expression turn from surprise, to worry and finally to a painful grimace as the wood approached 70°C and still grew hotter by the second.

Harry leaned in, so no one else could hear the next words spoken between them.

'If you know what's good for you, leave me in peace. If Tracey involves you in this matter again, I may reach my burning point–if you get my meaning.'

He leaned back, but to underline the seriousness of his words he adjusted the temperature of his wand to a scorching 250°, if only for the fraction of a second. Draco yelped and jumped out of his chair, looking at him incredulously while rubbing his throat where a very angry dot had appeared.

Carefully, without breaking eye contact, he took his bag and took a seat near Tracey, who looked bewildered at the both of them. _Well, that's those guys taken care off. Hermione's out of the picture for a while, so as long as Tracey stays her hands, this will do._

He was pleased to note that no one seemed willing to take the place next to him after his little show. That suited him just fine.

A few minutes later, the immaculate Professor Rose entered the classroom. He really had other things on his mind, but this woman was really a tad too beautiful for comfort. Not like those part-Veelas that were supposedly abundant in France and some other continental regions; she somehow seemed as if she were _bred to perfection_. That thought was quite worrisome in its own way.

She took the register and familiarised herself with the class, her glacial eyes shooting towards the person called up. After she was satisfied, she closed her eyes for a second and rearranged her features into a smile of pure benignity that was very nice to behold but aroused his immediate suspicion for that very reason. He tried to not give anything away and looked at her with polite interest. Most boys in the room were definitely less guarded, so this might have made him conspicuous all the same, but if that was the price to pay for not slavering like an idiot, he really couldn't help it.

'I welcome you to the basic study of Defence against the Dark Arts. I thought it would be profitable for you if we did some questions and answers today, so we may dispel any doubts about the course aims, the subject, myself or any other concern that may be on your mind.'

She casually leaned back into the adorned chair behind the teacher's escritoire and indicated with a smile and a slight gesture that they were allowed to ask away.

'Professor, what's your given name?'

She smiled. 'Aenor, Mr Macmillan.'

'That is an unusual name, Professor Rose.'

She smiled sweetly once more. 'And that was not a question, Mr Macmillan.' After a teasing pause, she answered nevertheless, flashing a smirk as the Hufflepuff grew redder by the second. 'It is of ancient Germanic origin, though the variation itself has its roots in medieval France.'

'Does that mean you're not from Britain, Professor Rose?'

'Why should it? You are, however, in this instance correct, Miss Bones.'

'Your English is very good for a foreigner, Professor!'

She awarded Macmillan with another smile, but did not answer.

'Do you have family in Britain, Professor Rose?'

'I do, Mr Zabini.'

'How did you get interested in Defence, Professor? It is very rare for a Professor to be this young, especially for Defence. My father told me once that they historically hardly ever accept people under forty years.'

'You are quite right, Mr Malfoy. But I seem to have profited from the unexpected resignation of Professor Dilyblles, who received an invitation to join a hunt for a particularly nasty pack of Lethifolds near the Caribbean.'

Without prior warning, she had her wand in her hands. It was of strange aesthetic quality and seemed to glow with a soft white light. The wood was light ivory and finely embellished. Her wand was pointed at Draco, who was in a state of shock as a cerulean spell shot towards him. He closed his eyes...but nothing happened.

After a short while, he opened them again, and (to Harry's wonderment) brought a hand to his throat where the burn should have been. Draco looked at her in amazement, and his mouth hung open.

'I also may just have some skill in the matter, so you should rest assured that I won't waste your time.' Her expression was pleasant but very dignified.

The class seemed to hang on every word she said after that. Even Draco seemed completely open about how smitten he was. There were only two other people who didn't seem very entertained.

'Professor? What is your favourite colour? Professor? Do you like flowers? Professor? Do you have a boyfriend? Professor? What is your cup size?' Tracey's mockingly avid voice rang through the classroom, and Harry had to work hard to conceal a laugh. The other boys seemed on the verge of open revolt, though there was little doubt that they were, in fact, most interested.

Professor Rose gave a small predatory smirk before looking straight at Tracey. With a challenging grin, she answered, 'Magenta, yes, no and 34C.'

Silence reigned supreme. Most boys were very red while the girls shared looks of shock and horror.

With a smug look, Professor Rose addressed Tracey. 'What about your own sizes then, Miss Davis? Surely you wouldn't mind telling your classmates such a trivial little thing. Or maybe I should make an educated guess for the benefit of the boys who know a bit more about Muggle-fashion...?'

The words hung precariously in the air for a while. Tracey only gaped at her and could–for once–not find a retort. Clearly enjoying the younger girl's dilemma, Professor Rose allowed the silence to stretch for a few more moments, sadistically relishing her victory.

'Or maybe not. I think this will do for personal questions. I would like to refocus your attention towards the subject at hand now.'

She stood up and walked towards the blackboard and tapped it with her wand once to make the course aims appear.

'Broadly speaking, all classes studying Defence follow the same procedures at Hogwarts, as far as I can tell. You learn a bit about 'Dark Creatures', as your Ministry so ignorantly likes to call them, and learn a negligible amount of useless spells in duelling. After six completely pointless years of study, you are a 'proficient wielder of defensive spellcraft' or so the Ministry would have you believe. In truth, anyone with the barest personal interest in such matters could probably still kill you without lifting his wand. The day before I arrived here, I had the misfortune of reading about what you are to learn here, and I am _appalled_. Let me be very clear about this: All the spells you are to learn in your first three years are practically useless in any real duel. Even attempting them will result in your instant death, should it ever come to that pitiful eventuality.'

As if to underline her statement, she picked up a large stack of parchment that many, Harry included, had identified as her notes for the lesson and let it flutter through her hands towards her feet. What had been an atmosphere of playfulness, was now one of complete amazement. The class was utterly baffled, while some individuals looked defensive. Those in Hufflepuff with deep connections to the Ministry were looking especially affronted.

'But, Professor Rose!' Sure enough, the Abbott girl eventually spoke out. 'The Ministry will have good reasons to not teach any other spells. It wouldn't be proper to learn those things in class, after all. This is no convention of Dark Wizards in training, but a school!'

The instructor, however, looked as if someone had just taken a bait. Harry didn't have a very good feeling about this.

'Ah yes, Miss Abbott. I believe I am correct if I assume that you have enjoyed the guidance of a private tutor by grace of the Ministry?'

The girl nodded defiantly.

'What did those people teach you? Enlighten me, please.'

'Well, lots of things, Professor! _Stinging Hexes_ , _Disarming Charms_ , _Knockback Jinxes_ and much more!'

It was obvious how proud she felt. It would indeed seem that she wouldn't have any trouble, whatever the task Rose set her to. Their instructor's grin, however, became even more eerie.

'Not bad. So do you feel confident, then? In matters of duelling those of your age?'

Abbott nodded again and looked indeed quite confident. Other Hufflepuffs were throwing her envious glances while her neighbour, the Bones brat, giggled appreciatively.

'So how about this, Miss Abbott? You and Miss Bones against Mr Black. As the both of you have had the pleasure of learning much of the Ministry's curriculum in advance, this should be child's play, am I right?'

'Are you serious, Professor?!' She laughed loftily. 'The little Prince of Black? Sure, I look forward to it.'

Harry was annoyed at getting dragged into this, so he raised his voice for the first time this lesson.

'Is this really necessary, Professor Rose?'

She, in turn, smiled at him serenely. 'If you crave an incentive, Mr Black, you are excused from all further lessons until Yule, should you manage to come out on top.'

 _Yule...Good to know._

'I guess that will do, Professor.' Harry drawled.

She seemed amused by his nonchalant attitude, in contrast to the rest of the class. 'Hey, Susan! 10 Galleons if you hex his bits off!' 'Come on girls, beat the crap out of him and be done with it.' 'Hey do you think they are going to be in trouble if they "accidentally" finish the _Darker_ off?'

Harry tried his best to ignore them and deliberately flounced towards the front. Both girls were getting up as well, heads stuck together, clearly formulating some kind of strategy. Suddenly, one of them sniggered. Harry was quite annoyed by now. While the extra free time would be worth a bit of sport, he really did want to avoid attention as the madman who threw curses for words.

A sudden inspiration made him laugh in malicious joy. Trying his best to ignore Daphne, who was bent on catching his eye, he took his position fifteen feet away from the girls and casually leant against the wall.

Professor Rose sat down on her desk and, with a complicated dance of her wand that seemed to go on forever, constructed a very long barrier between the four of them and the rest of the class. 'You may use any spell that comes to your mind, except those prohibited by your esteemed Ministry, of course. My command to start will be a bang of my wand. Do not attempt to...'

Harry didn't really listen, as this did not concern him. He had already decided what to do and was sure it was within the rules set for them, whatever they may be. Instead, he shot a glance towards the barrier and–to his delighted surprise–was forced to take a second look. It was unlike any magic he had ever seen before. Dazzled, he turned around completely and inspected it in greater detail, altogether ignoring the instructions, at last. Conventional barriers tried to divide their energy into carefully outlined patterns. This ensured that the whole barrier was segmented down into smaller, independent parts. Every smaller field was of equal strength, and even if a smaller field should fail, in time it would automatically rebuild itself, as long as the barrier was not disturbed on a grander scale. By even momentarily slicing it in two, for example, you would ensure that too many connections were broken and the barrier would fail, even if the attempt had not been very overwhelming in its approach. In short, conventional barriers were rare, because they struggled against overwhelming might _and_ extreme precision.

This thing before him, in contrast, casually threw all those concepts out of the window. It was a...watery fabric of magic, heavily laced with spells of movement and direction. It would take him hours to completely understand its base principles, but his temporary theory was that any attack on it automatically disturbed the barrier, resulting in a small pull of sorts. This would immediately cause all the free magic in the fabric to surge towards the weak point and close it in the process. If you wanted to beat this beast, you would be forced to overpower it with more strength than the original caster endowed it with–in a single attack. Or whittle it down–Merlin knows how long that would take. This was simply incredible!

His hand outstretched in nearly unconscious longing, an amused voice to his left suddenly brought him back to the world. 'Do you find it to your liking, Mr Black?'

Horror-struck, he slowly turned around. Professor Rose's predatory grin in combination with the looks of complete befuddlement around the rest of the class told him, to his immediate regret, that this barrier was probably invisible.

 _Damn!_

'Sorry, Professor. I'm ready at your convenience,' Harry answered, trying his best to keep his voice calm.

She continued to give her smirk that somehow easily got the message across: ' _Got'cha!_ '

 _Damn it! I'm such an idiot. One moment of childish curiosity and here I go again_.

'Take your positions. Remember my warnings–if you listened, that is.'

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. The girls looked even more eager than before, obviously interpreting his disinterest as arrogance.

'20 Galleons on the girls,' shouted Macmillan in the background.

'Wish I had that much to bet. What kind of muppet would take you on in any case, Ernie?'

'Haha, I will!' That was Draco. He really wanted a cut if he had to do the dirty work, but as he was resolute to remain cold towards his friends, that was no real option here.

'On my command!'

Silence fell.

'One!'

Abbott and Bones looked annoyingly confident.

'Two!'

He tried his best to ignore his wand, which was very pleased with his plan and miaowed excitedly–he guessed.

A loud bang indicated the start of the duel, but Harry only drawled in a carrying voice: ' _Protego_!'

He had held back slightly, but the force of the shield still was such that one of the girls squealed and fell on her behind as waves of blue light visibly rippled down in front of him. His grandfather had told him that it was very rare for a shield to be clearly visible. His own, on the other hand, looked like a cascade of tangible light.

He was _very_ confident in his shield. In fact, he knew that both girls were likely instructed in more and more advanced duelling magic than him, but how would that help them here? You could only undo such magic if you could overpower it or attack the magic at its core, and that required theoretical knowledge these two would not possess.

To mock them, he sat down cross-legged, keeping his wand pointed in front of him to maintain the shield.

Abbott continued to rain spells down on him and Bones soon joined her, the second she had stood up. Harry gave them supremely unconcerned looks, which only served to enrage them further. Stinging hexes soon became disarming jinxes that turned into stunners and some really nasty yellow stuff that he couldn't immediately place.

But everything they threw at him evaporated at the fiercely glowing waterfall of energy before him. After a while, he looked at Professor Rose and gave a shrug. She grinned back.

'Mr Black wins,' she finally proclaimed to the annoyance and murmurings of many a Hufflepuff.

'What? Why? He's just sitting there. He hasn't hit them once, Professor!'

'What the hell was that blue stuff, anyway?'

'Wasn't that a _Shield Charm_? That stuff is taught around fourth year, isn't it?'

'Does it usually look like that, though?'

Professor Rose flicked her hand, and the wands of both girls flew towards her. Harry, in turn, lowered his shield.

'Mr Macmillan, what was the purpose of this demonstration?' Rose asked exasperatedly.

'Uh, to beat the crap out of some _Darker_ bastard?' he tried earnestly.

'No. Anyone else have a more educated guess?'

Daphne raised her hand.

'Yes, Miss Greengrass?' Harry was actually quite impressed that she had managed to remember every name so far.

'To prove that the curriculum laid out by the Ministry is inherently flawed. Or that even continued instructions in these matters may not yield the desired result if there is a...' she cleared her throat in delight, 'wide gap in ability.'

'A better answer. Miss Jones? Any idea what these young ladies could have done better, or why they failed, even though they probably knew more magic than Mr Black?'

The girl gave a thoughtful look before answering.

'I think they wasted too much time at the start, Professor. They should have both started with stunners, seeing as they could both perform them. I think I would have tried to flank him, too.'

Professor Rose gave a small nod. 'Three points to Hufflepuff. Such things as shields divide magic and try to protect a specific room or field with a given amount of power. The larger the area under fire, the weaker the protection becomes.' She shot a knowing look towards Harry that he really did not appreciate. 'Usually, at least.'

She waved her wand, causing her barrier to flicker and die. Harry walked to his chair, sparing the rest of the class not a single glance. After the girls had retrieved their wands, they sat down, clearly disgruntled.

'I would like to stress the point that shields are a good defensive tool, but do only have a small place in real duelling. Being able to cast a second spell while holding your shield in place requires such prodigious skill that it may be more accurate to label it an innate talent, and even then the shield will still impede your own attack. Generally, counter-curses and hex-deflection are better ways to deal with incoming attacks, but require a great deal of concentration and finesse as an off-trade.

'Seeing as this is a defence class, as Miss Abbott so aptly said, we shall concentrate on measures against incoming attacks until all of you are proficient enough to cast spells of equal magnitude to the Disarming Charm or Stunning Spell.'

Hermione meekly raised a hand. 'But the curriculum, Professor...'

'Miss Granger, I do not give a Knut about your precious curriculum. As long as I teach here, you will either learn real defence, or nothing at all. If you truly wish to learn all the useless stuff your Ministry deems so important, like the mighty _Tickling Charm_ , you can do so in your free time. Any other questions?'

A tentative hand rose in the back.

'Yes, Mr Sallyweather?'

'Excuse me, Professor Rose, but what exactly is the difference between hex deflection, counter-curses and all that other stuff you mentioned?'

'Good question. In general, you may consider any classification of magic inherently flawed, but–for the time being–you may imagine the matter as follows:

'Hex deflection, as the name states, tries to avert the magic flung towards you. It is not unlike a local application of shielding magic. However, you need very keen reflexes to make it work. One may imagine the wand as the bat and the enemy curses as bludgers. It offers the broadest of protections, yet due to its inherent difficulty, few people make use of it. There also exists a variation to hurl offensive spells into the enemy spell-fire, as some curses cannot be blocked so easily. In summary, you need at least comparable magical power in comparison to your opponent, as well as superior reflexes in general.

'The name counter-curses, on the other hand, may be misleading. Contrary to what one might think initially, this magic has little to do with only remedying the effect of adverse magics. In truth, one shoots a specific magic designed to counter the enemy spell. These spells take effect either during the flight of incoming spell-fire or once it has already taken hold of its target, it truly doesn't matter. You should imagine counter-curses as magic aimed to overcome the enemy spellwork. This does _not_ mean that counter-curses have no effect on their own, and some can actually be quite dangerous. Often enough, there exists only one counter-curse available, sometimes none at all. This method of defence requires a broad knowledge, and even then there is no way you will ever know every counter-curse there is. In addition to that, the inherent reactive nature of this strategy makes speed of the utmost importance, as you will be battling not only your opponent but your reaction time, as well. Even then it is still worth knowing these counter-curses, of course, as you will find some spells used very often, like _Expelliarmus,_ _Stupefy_ or _Reducto_. At least in non-professional duels. Counter-curses also may help undo damage inflicted by your opponent, either during or after your confrontation.

'Lastly, you should take note that there are other ways to impede magic. For example, physical objects. There may even be forces to inhibit or at least dampen conventional applications of magic. You would therefore be wise to always be careful in all your confrontations.'

She looked around the classroom and observed the class' reaction. After a while, her expression started to tighten, as if she'd been disappointed. Harry guessed what this was about, but he didn't really care. If she was true to her word, he would have some nice free time without any fuss. Maybe Rose wasn't so bad after all...

'Mr Black, would you mind asking a question for your intimidated peers?'

 _Peers? Hardly..._

'Which one, Professor Rose?' he returned calmly.

A small, elegant and altogether dishonest grin graced her features. 'If you would be so kind as to start with the obvious one, Mr Black?'

'What about evasion, Professor Rose?'

The young professor's features turned into somewhat honest appreciation, and she nodded thankfully towards him. 'What a curious question, Mr Black! More curious considering nobody else thought of this... The most obvious answer should have been to get out of the way, evading the incoming magic. I thought I had made it quite clear that all the former methods of defence are fairly difficult to pull off in stressful situations. Jumping out of the line of fire, however, should be comparably easy to accomplish, as it is the natural reflexive action.'

She seemed to consider them for a moment. Harry thought some seemed offended by the easy answer or maybe by her suggestion to roll around the floor or duck behind something possibly _filthy_. In the end, Rose continued in a business-like tone, 'I see. You will write an essay about the counter-curses to all jinxes present in your beloved curriculum until and including the second year. You will be tested on these, so study hard. You have three weeks for this, the length of your assignment is of no concern to me as long as the contents are sufficiently complete. That will be all.'

Just when Harry made to grab his bag, he heard a soft voice from the front. 'A word, if you please, Mr Black.'

Feeling that sense of foreboding again, Harry couldn't avoid getting slightly nervous. Professor Rose was ominous. Even more fishy than he was himself. That he could not openly decline her orders was so very irksome to him. He really wasn't used to being at the mercy of others...

Professor Rose closed the door behind the last student and comfortably settled herself in the chair behind her desk.

'Mr Black. Are you actually aware that the cascading fluctuation observable as a ripple in your shield is a likely vulnerability? If you were to distribute the magic more evenly the overall structural density would increase, you know?'

'I am aware of that, Professor. My goal was not to achieve maximum protection, but rather to impress those girls with a grand showing.'

She smiled, but didn't immediately reply. Finally, she delicately folded her legs and looked him deep into the eye. 'If I were teaching at my old school, I would have handled things a bit differently, you know? Here, I am very much more free in my lessons, yet at the same time so very restricted in my methods. But you are not exactly the average student are you, Mr Black?'

She studied his eyes, and he did his utmost to appear calm and not give anything away.

'No,' she said softly. 'No, you're not. Seeing as you aren'tt exactly average, you will hopefully not hold it against me if I take a slightly different course of action with you. I find myself...curious, Mr Black.'

Harry didn't know if he liked where this was going. Something wasn't right with this otherworldly beauty in front of him. 'How so, Professor?'

'What would you do,' Rose drawled, '...if I did _this_?'

All of a sudden, something was ferociously ravaging his mind. It was agony as he had never felt before, and he rolled up on the floor, choking hard, as he tried to concentrate on his Occlumency as best as he could. Yet there was simply no way to stifle the screams of pain that left his vocal cords. Trying not to retch his guts out, he fought what felt like no single probe, but an attack from all sides: relentless and devilishly brutal; merciless and all-powerful...

Wave upon wave of innumerable burning needles tore at his brain, singeing his insides, assaulting his sanity. He was sure it was a lost fight, but he held on to the brink of his abilities, even as he felt the blood trickle down his ears and nose.

For hours, he lay on the hard, cold floor, writhing in anguish, while his tormentor sat smiling beatifically behind her desk. Days went by, the planet leisurely orbited the sun a few dozen times, stars were born and died. Finally, the whole universe collapsed in his dark world of agony, and everything grew algid and dim. Harry floated in an empty void of excruciation for an indeterminable amount of time, losing all orientation, sense and self-awareness until suddenly– _inexplicably–_ the pain that had long since become everything his existence had been reduced to, ceased to be.

It took him minutes to remember where and who he was, as he lay on the chilly stone, frantically gasping, fighting the cramps all over his body. Then, like salvation, the heavenly voice of an angel floated down towards him, piercing the clouds of his consciousness like a caressing ray of warm light.

'Eight seconds. Not bad, Mr Black, but I'm sure you can do better. Students that arouse my personal interest are expected to perform according to different standards. I suggest you use your free time in the coming weeks to improve upon the defences of your mind.'

Something light fluttered down on his face, and he feebly tried to grab whatever it was, barely even registering the protest his muscles gave.

'I would like to believe that you will put in a serious effort, Mr Black. Before the holidays, you may enjoy another private exam with me.'

He focused his hazy vision on the small bit of parchment in his hands. It was a free pass to any book in the restricted section, signed by a certain Aenor E. Rose.

'Try not to bleed all over the desk when you show yourself out. I am rather fond of it.'


	8. HD: Inaugurations part I

**Inaugurations I**

* * *

Hermione was pretty annoyed. That had been the case for quite some time now, and she couldn't help but feel that maybe she should take a more proactive approach towards her problems; they just seemed to pile up one after another. Absent-mindedly chewing on her quill, she thought back on her first two months of school.

First, there'd been the fallout with Harry, who had so far refused to even look her in the eye. This weighed heavily on her mind, as she not only considered Harry her first friend at Hogwarts, but–though she was determined to keep this from the others–her first true friend at all. It had only lasted a single day, so she was reluctant to act, but somehow she felt that there was a good connection between them. Had not Greengrass even mentioned how she'd been 'in his good standing'?

Speaking of the blonde, she had initially assessed the rather well-endowed witch to be a simple fan of Harry's or that he was little more to her than her favourite toy. That had been a most grave misunderstanding, and her foolishness had resulted in the scariest ten minutes of her life. She still sometimes woke at night, remembering the mad expression of fury on the other girl's face. The young Muggle-born witch had shilly-shallied over the matter, but eventually decided she wouldn't tell Madame Pomfrey or Professor Snape what had happened. It would have been difficult to prove anything, and the consequences of her failure would probably have ruined her standing in the house for good...

Not that it was much better now, of course. Harry was still thoroughly treating her as foul smelling air at best, while Daphne seemed to carefully avoid her as well, probably in an attempt to keep herself from beating Hermione to death. Draco had his own little gang, but even still, he'd become really quiet lately. He hadn't been very friendly with her anyway, yet he had at least refrained from telling her to bugger off, probably out of respect for Harry.

There seemed to be some strange connection between Harry and many of the Slytherins, especially Draco and Daphne. It was obvious that Greengrass and Malfoy had known Harry for quite some time, Tracey, too. But their relationship seemed a bit too deep to be mere friendship from an early age, not to mention that Harry seemed to have the upper hand in all his dealings if he decided to press the issue. She really wanted to know more, but asking was quite out of the question, and that grated on her nerves. The complex social structures of her house were completely incomprehensible to her, yet there was no choice but to wait until somebody filled her in. She had scoured through the library on the topic of pure-blood culture, hierarchy and family relations for days but found _nothing at all_. Unable to suppress a shiver, she clearly remembered Greengrass' warning: _Asking questions about magic, family or the past is not always appreciated_.

The other thing she immediately realised was that every other Slytherin regarded her with either the same contempt they held for the Squib caretaker Mr Filch or treated her as some kind of running gag, that 'Mudblood-Snake-Wannabee'. The insults didn't really get to her; she had suffered much worse in the Muggle-world. But there was no denying that practically nobody was willing to associate with her. The term 'friends' was another matter entirely.

Tracey had helped her a bit, thankfully, presumably out of pity or sympathy. She was only a half-blood herself and, on the second night, had told her a few things that would at least help her avoid any more hostility–for a while. The lessons were simple but had been so very alien to her; socialising in the wizarding world was like an odd game of sorts, with baffling rules and death traps in droves. Tracey told her to keep away from certain crowds, _especially_ if they seemed inviting. She advised her to look for a few people she could be friendly with and pointed out some likely candidates, but reminded her to approach no more than three in total. When she'd asked about the number, Tracey had said that if other Slytherins felt threatened by her making too many 'alliances', they would take drastic measure to remind her of her place. She also did say to never, under any circumstances, befriend anyone from Gryffindor or Hufflepuff if she wanted to spend nights in the dormitory instead of the infirmary. Hermione had at first thought this a joke, but the reproving glare of Tracey's at her laughter had quickly crushed that notion.

She had been rather oafish in her beliefs and naivety, there was no denying, as that very next morning the news had slowly been broken over the school that Harry had...killed a first year during the night. Hermione hadn't really believed it, but the thought that something like this could happen at a school had shocked her to the core. The magicals approached violence so much more casually than what she was used to. Arguments were rarely solved by words and feuds even less often so, which might stem-she mused-from the accelerated healing that magic allowed, but it just seemed so very cruel to her. That a student of Hogwarts had actually found his death by means of another, possibly her friend, had scared her so badly that she had hardly slept for weeks.

Shuddering, Hermione remembered how Harry hadn't seemed especially bothered by the cold hatred most of the school had poured over him. She was still amazed at how calm and dignified he'd been, especially that next morning. That had also been the first time she could have believed him to come from a noble house of sorts–had she not seen his incredible wardrobe or that ridiculous quill of his. She had been appalled when the shopkeeper in Diagon Alley had written back and told her that Phoenix feathers were so rare that they were hardly ever used for mundane works of craftsmanship and more often gifted for wands. The quality and size of the feather had to be right as well, among other things. The proprietor had told her in no uncertain terms that he would be very willing to pay several hundred Galleons for such a fine piece of art and delightful find.

But back to more important matters. To her astonishment, Harry hadn't wavered at all, even when a giant flock of angry owls had madly stormed towards him. He had only carefully inspected the envelopes before incinerating the lot of them, except for one formal looking one and two others. Having pocketed those, he had simply gotten on with his breakfast. Harry had looked peaky and somewhat stiff, especially the second day after the incident, but that was only to be expected, wasn't it?

That day had been bad, not only for him. While Harry soon had to fight off attackers every other day and spend as much time in the infirmary as in the common room, she herself had been set upon for the first time that night. It could have been much worse, a pacifying Tracey had told her. The half-blood had insisted on her not going to Pomfrey and–under no circumstances–was she to tell any member of staff about this. As long as it was an isolated thing, they had likely only wanted to observe her reaction, or so the tiny girl had said. Her back had hurt like crazy for a few days, but eventually the pain had vanished, and–so far–she had indeed not been ambushed again.

The Daily Prophet reporters had jumped at the story of Nott's demise like famished vultures, of course. The headlines had been so very nasty; Hermione still shuddered at the cold determination, devoid of any additional emotions, in Harry's eyes as he'd read them.

 _Last scion of the Blacks involved in murder on first day of school._

The author had been surprisingly open about his demand that chucking the Blacks out of society and into prison, whether they were actually guilty or not, would probably solve some problems down the road. The articles by that Skeeter woman had been even worse. Much worse.

Harry, however, had only read them with pronounced polite indifference and didn't even raise an eyebrow as the Gryffindors had loudly shouted to their Head of House that they would refuse to share lessons with him in the future. This had launched a fierce debate between the Headmaster, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall.

Professor Snape had furiously screamed that he wouldn't abide by any political ploys the Headmaster forced onto him. The potions master could be very scary, but at that moment, Hermione started feeling a grudging respect rise for her own Head of House, who held his ground against the angry pair made up of headmaster and deputy.

In the end, it seemed that it was impractical to rearrange the whole timetable because of one student.

School had settled down into an uneasy routine after that. Part of that sadly included Harry visiting the infirmary at least three times a week. He gave it as good as he got, but he was often lured into someone's trap or else fighting against impossible odds. Often with third years of even older students, that is. She had never heard him complain, though, and Madame Pomfrey seemed to have taken a liking towards the lonely boy, who had so frighteningly casually sent a second year Hufflepuff to St. Mungo's permanent spell-damage ward two weeks ago. She couldn't help but wonder why some specific students from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were so very determined in making Harry's life as miserable as possible. She had picked up on the whole _Darkers_ stuff, but none of the others were treated nearly as badly.

 _~BLHD~_

Time had gone by, and at least her own situation had improved over the weeks. She had exchanged tentative greetings and signs of good-will with that female fifth year prefect, Fawley, who was a pure-blood from a very old family (as far as she could tell). She had also found a good friend in a Ravenclaw first year, Jermaine. He was the serious sort, but she rather enjoyed their discussions, and was grateful that he never brought the matter of her house up for talk. They had spent so much time in the library that some really irksome rumours had started floating around, but Jermaine had simply waved it off. The only other person she knew who spent more time in the library was Harry, of course. For him, the library was a safe-haven, as no student dared provoke the fierce temper of Madam Pince, and so he could be seen darting up and down the bookcases practically every free second of the day. Strangely, he also seemed to be able to get into the restricted section, however that was possible. Hermione had tried to get a pass on her first morning at school, but Professor Snape had only sneered and asked her if she needed a cure for sudden fits of insanity.

Classes had finally become really interesting, and she enjoyed them all very much, well except for the flying lesson. Harry and three Hufflepuffs had gotten into a heated fight, which had only ended when Madam Hooch had given them all detention and barred them from further flying for the whole year. The flying itself hadn't really agreed with her either, and she'd been determinedly glad when the instructor told the class that they would not have to attend further lessons once they had grasped the principles.

The other classes were simply amazing. She wholeheartedly loved Astronomy, and Transfiguration quickly became her best subject. It was, to her great annoyance, also the only subject in which she continuously outshone her fellow pupils. She wasn't used to so much competition and could not keep some rather unkind remarks from her lips, as she saw Tracey, Draco and a few others quickly catching up to her at first. She had been forced to put very much work into it, but eventually, even Tracey seemed to struggle to keep up with her, for which she was very grateful. Harry's constant stellar performances in Charms had left her quite irritated. Professor Flitwick seemed ready to adopt Harry any day; he could practically get away with anything during their lessons, as long as he was somewhat quiet and demonstrated his mastery of the course work at the end of each class. She also had the suspicion that the tiny professor had invited Harry into his office more often than once already for a private chat on matters of Charms.

Hermione had initially thought Harry's performance on his first day a fluke, or an exception at least, but it had become rather clear in a matter of weeks that Harry was vastly ahead of the curriculum in Charms. At least a few years, by her estimation, as ridiculous as it sounded. She had carefully asked about that, and Jermaine had told her that most pure-blood families offered their offspring some sort of early education, and a few of them, like the Blacks, were notorious for overdoing it.

Potions, in contrast, was a thrilling nightmare. Professor Snape was very knowledgeable in his subject, there could be no doubt, yet he could also become equally personal if one aroused his anger. It didn't take longer than a week for him to dismiss half the class as 'useless idiots blessed with enviable ignorance', and he seemed to hate Tracey and Seamus with a passion. Hermione had tried her very best, of course, to prove herself to him, but–most irritatingly–no matter how much effort she put into the subject (even cutting the hours of her sleep) Greengrass trumped her every move. She hadn't initially given Hermione a studious impression, but after a few lessons, it was all too clear how obsessed the blond was becoming with the subject. Hermione wouldn't have believed it at first, but potions was a bit more than learning recipes; you could only ever achieve results of superlative quality if you had a good intuition for these things. Even Professor Snape had been forced to compliment Greengrass–somewhat. The only thing easing her nerves during potions were the ongoing devastatingly poor attempts Tracey made.

History of Magic had–for some reason and to the incredulity of many older students–quickly become a favourite subject for most of the student body. Professor Prewett was certainly competent and could be very favourable towards certain crowds. Ronald Weasley was easily his preferred pupil, and he went to great lengths to explain questions asked by him, not that Weasley was especially daft or anything. What jangled her nerves a touch was that Professor Prewett seemed oddly fixated on continuously presenting the Ministry of Magic in a good light. The first few lessons had more or less been free questions, and had featured him delightedly explaining how more recent measures had filled Azkaban to the brim and reduced the social strife to a historic minimum. His lengthy stories about his adventurous days as an Auror and Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement were quite interesting, naturally. Harry and Greengrass had so far been absent from every single lesson, but even though Professor Snape had given them each a dozen detentions, they simply did not reconsider their approach. Professor Prewett didn't seem to mind very much either.

Lastly, there was Defence against the Dark Arts. She'd felt quite prepared for that class, and was more than motivated to learn as much as she could in an effort to better protect herself. But the lessons were...incomprehensibly unorthodox. Professor Rose casually threw the whole curriculum out of the window, but no one seemed to mind very much. The boys, Hermione thought, full of contempt, were having a hard time resisting the urge to gape shamelessly, and Tracey was always trying to sabotage the lesson in some way. Professor Rose, on the other hand, seemed to take it all in good spirits, always making a show of vindictively embarrassing the witch like a baby girl in return. Hermione couldn't refute that they were making quick progress, however. She'd been most doubtful at first, but–to her astonishment–they had completed the defensive aspect of their first year curriculum in a matter of weeks. Professor Rose was also always bent on making the lesson as practical as possible, and set them to read ahead as homework. Many students started openly worshipping her as she, after being egged on by Tracey, had accepted to battle the whole class (minus Harry, who had been absent since the first). What had followed could only be described as a massacre: in less than three seconds, she had stunned half the class with silent stunners. The more careful students had taken cover behind desks, but with a wave of her wand, she had transfigured all the desks into very angry wolfhounds that had quickly cornered the rest of them.

She had, however, set their minds at ease after that brutal display of difference in strength.

'You will be happy to hear that I am probably one of the better duellists at Hogwarts. But you have to understand: magical confrontations are nothing like muggle fights. If the disparity in strength is too great, your odds of success depend solely on the mistakes of your enemy or may even cease to exist altogether. I could, for example, have created a barrier around myself, sealed off the room and you would have had the unedifying experience of dying by suffocation in a matter of perhaps a day or two. None of you here have the strength or knowledge to break through a barrier like the one I cast during our first lesson. You would have been completely helpless–and I repeat–you could have done _nothing at all_ to escape your death. Therefore, you should always be most careful with whom you pick fights. The only thing that may give you any small chance at victory against perceivably stronger opponents would be the element of surprise, or a carefully laid and advantageous setup. The latter is, obviously, more often than not a bad choice, as you may not be able to overcome your own weakness no matter the advantage you hold, like you experienced for yourself just now. By catching someone who is unaware, however, you increase the odds exponentially. Only particularly powerful or rare individuals are able to grasp the magic around them clearly enough so that they might react in time to a stunner shot from behind.'

Hermione hadn't been very sure if it was a good idea to instruct the students to be as sneaky and underhanded as possible, but the professor had had even more to say on the matter.

'On the other hand, you lack any technique to accurately gauge the strength of an enemy at this point of time. Strength in duelling comes in many forms: It could be lightning fast reflexes; it could be an innate talent you have never heard of; it could simply be power; it could be knowledge of spells you couldn't dream about; it could be the strength of character to keep a level head; it most certainly could be experience.

'These things are obscure, and many witches and wizards more able than you fail to understand this point, but let me tell you a story to illustrate. The previous instructor of this subject seems to have instilled the belief in the heads of many a Hogwarts student and graduate that your performance in other subjects directly correlates to success in duelling. That is a _faulty_ conclusion.

'In a time long gone, there once lived a wizard known as Emeric. He was the pride and joy of his father, the first-born of a powerful and old family. Gleefully, his father set himself to the task of teaching his offspring the ways of the wizards, proud of producing a magical heir. Yet the results remained unsatisfactory. Neither disciplinary actions nor the best motivation nor even foreign or famous teachers could help little Emeric, and both father and son became increasingly devastated and regretful. In five years, Emeric never got beyond what you may consider first year Charms, and–in all his lifetime–never transfigured so much as a splinter of wood. For all intents and purposes, all of you presently in this room surpass him a thousand-fold already with your grasp of magic. As family in those days was as much about politics as it was about community, his father soon disinherited his firstborn in an attempt to spare the family more embarrassment, for he thought his offspring a Squib. Son and parents parted with heavy hearts, as the father would not grant him shelter, even though the child pleaded for days, as the outside world was dangerous to those brought up with magic at the time and doubly so for those who could not defend themselves. After having been chased from home with hexes flying after him, the fourteen-year-old boy fled and vanished for good, swearing vengeance with tears still in his eyes.

'Two decades later, a hitherto unknown Dark Lord emerged, casually slaughtering his opponents like flies by using magics not thought combat-relevant at the time. That Dark Lord bested many of the most prominent figures of his age, the descendants of Hogwarts' founders for instance, and brought down Emeric's family in a storm of blood, picking and winning a fight against more than twenty members of the household, and double that number of servants and guards. He himself met his end, eventually, as we all do, but when he was finished, it came to light that the fearsome Dark Lord who had amassed scores of followers and held the country in his grip for years, had been our very own Emeric.'

She had paused for a while and contently drew out the awed silence. Then she had shot a swift look towards the Slytherins and gave a small smirk.

'Before you waste your time in the library, I should add that you will find no remark about what technique Emeric utilised in the collection of Hogwarts'.'

The story about the maniacal wizard spreading destruction where he trod still made Hermione feel very vulnerable. It was one of her great beliefs that knowledge was not infinite, and while it was maybe impossible to ever know all there was to learn, you should at least be able to slowly near the point of perfection over time. Thus, unknowable magics and their wielders made her feel determinedly uneasy. She could slowly feel one more paradigm she had held for ages shifting...

 _~BLHD~_

Hermione gazed into the fire.

It had been the same in matters of defence. At first, Hermione had been terrified to cast a mere _Jelly-Legs_ , even on people attacking her. She had had to throw this hesitation overboard relatively quickly though, and now she didn't have any more reservations in the matter of her own defence. She would still, of course, try to avoid injuries, but if someone attacked her, that person could hardly complain if she managed to best him, right?

Hermione had come to like the half-deserted common room quite a bit. Initially, it had creeped her out that this room was so obviously intended for at least triple the number of students than there currently were Slytherins. Now, she felt an odd sense of comfort. Even if she disagreed with many matters concerning her own house, the idea of being one of the last holding out turned the lonesome nights by the fire into some kind of honourable vigil.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned around in time to see Greengrass dashing towards the dormitories. Tracey, wearing a look somewhere between amusement and despair, hesitated for a while. In the end, the petite witch with the warm eyes made her way towards the hearth and took a seat not too far from her.

Hermione returned her gaze to the dancing flames. She had always been so engrossed in knowledge, and only after having Harry point it out had she come to realise that she had indeed been compensating, though she would definitely never ever tell him. Something else she really liked about her house was the atmosphere of mystique that shrouded practically every aspect of House Slytherin. There was always more going on than people freely admitted, and nothing ever was as it first appeared. There were opportunities to be had here and mysteries to be unravelled...

But she was also still Hermione.

'Uh, Tracey? I've tried really hard not to ask certain questions, you know. But do you think you could explain some personal matters to me?'

The other witch seemed more resigned than angry and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

'Do you really think this a good idea, Hermione? You remember what happened last time, don't you?'

Hermione shuddered. Tracey was as nice a girl as you could find. She was the kind of girl to pick up a stray and beg her parents to be allowed to care for it. But she _definitely_ was a Slytherin.

'Y-Yes, I do. It's not about that. But it is still personal, I think.'

'Well, have a go then. In the end, I may not answer you anyway, of course.'

'That seems fair. Uh...Tracey, why are some Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs so bent on causing Harry problems in particular? I know about that _Darker_ bit, but that's not all, is it? At least half of Slytherin house has some connection to the families sharing that stigma, but while they suffer some animosity, Harry seems to have it especially bad, doesn't he? I don't believe it's all because of–you know–that incident either...'

Hermione had been looking into the fire again, but as she turned towards Tracey, she realised she had her complete attention now. The girl seemed to be weighing her options.

'And why would you want to know that?' asked Tracey carefully.

Hermione opened her mouth, but quickly shut it again. If she blurted out 'because I was curious', she would probably wake up in the infirmary tomorrow. Fishing for a better reason, she tried to go with something rather embarrassing. It was better than being injured by a witch one-and-a-half head shorter than her, at least.

'You know, I, er, was not very popular at my Muggle school. Harry was kind of the first friend I ever made, and I couldn't help but notice how bad he has had it, these last few weeks...'

'He hasn't spoken a word to you all this time though, has he?' Tracey looked challenging.

'No–not since, uh, that time. You know.'

'So what business is it to you then?' Tracey hadn't blinked for at least two minutes.

Hermione gaped and tried to gesticulate vaguely. In the end, she gave up and bit her bottom lip. 'I'm worried.'

Tracey let out all the tension in her whole body at once and visibly sagged down into the depths of her armchair. 'This is so ridiculous. I honestly can't say which one of you is being the most stupid here...'

Hermione didn't react to that, as it seemed like Tracey had spoken more to herself anyway.

'Look, Honey, I'll only tell you this because it is not exactly a secret story. Merlin–Daphne will be angry with me, but if you knew where to look, you could easily find out yourself.'

With comedic effort, she slowly turned her seat to face Hermione.

'Do you know about the _Pillars_?'

'Eh–no?' Hermione thought she might have heard the term once, but that was probably during a time where she had been terrified to appear too inquisitive for her own good.

'Ask Prewett about it. In short, they are a select few pure-blood families that have always supported the current political agenda of the Ministry. As a reward, they have been dubbed 'pillars of social justice' or some crap like that. I didn't even bother to remember. Everybody calls them _Pillars_. Those families have humongous influence with the Ministry at the moment, which is really strange, given that they officially promote equal rights for half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Follow so far?'

'So, I assume some of those that continuously antagonise Harry have connections with those families?' Hermione thought this was very straight-forward so far.

'Yes, but it's more complicated than that. First, have a guess at a few family names,' prodded Tracey.

'Oh! Uh, Prewett, I guess? Weasley? Abbott, maybe?' Hermione guessed.

'Not bad. The Prewetts and Abbotts are very good buddies with the Ministry at the moment, and yes, they're part of that illustrious circle I mentioned. The mother of the Weasleys that are currently at school is a born Prewett, so you weren't far off there. Got it?'

'Of course.' Hermione nodded affirmatively. 'But this still does not explain why they specifically target Harry, does it?'

'Hold your Thestrals! There are other old family names of note that escaped the stigma of being _Darkers,_ but you get the drift anyway, right? These families do not only hold personal influence in the Ministry, but more or less divide a whole department between them. Ever heard of the _Last Department_?'

Hermione shook her head.

'Good. Don't get involved with them, don't ask questions about them, and don't mention them. On the other side of the political landscape, there have always been several families that proposed strong conservative beliefs. Some rather nastily, others more innocently. Have another guess at a few names.'

'Black, I presume?' Hermione guessed. 'Malfoy seems right up that alley, too. I've heard the Selwyns have been pretty important as well in the past.' You could learn a lot if you shut up and listened at meals.

'Good enough. The last piece of your puzzle is the most personal. As I said, it's not really a secret, but I know for a fact that Daphy and Harry consider this very private. Do you get my meaning?' Tracey's normally warm eyes shone with a clear warning.

'I'll keep it to myself, I promise,' said Hermione, making a conscious effort to placate her informant.

'You better do that. You haven't yet had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the really nasty part of Harry's family. I'm completely serious with you here, Hermione. If _those guys_ think you babbled about Harry's past, they may not show the restraint Daphy has.'

Hermione blanched. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to get involved with Harry's family, anyway. _But the way Tracey has worded it, it seems like I've already met someone related to Harry, doesn't it?_ She refrained from asking, however, and nodded meekly.

'Harry was, in fact, not born a Black. Now make the connection yourself.'

Hermione looked at her completely nonplussed. 'Do you–do you mean to say he was once part of one of those _Pillar_ families?'

'Not only that. He consciously and with full awareness of his actions forsook his other family, and a mountain of gold to boot, by the way, condemning an ancient house with the full support of the Ministry to die. He willingly took on the stigma of being a _Darker_ , even though he could easily have escaped it. And he didn't join just any family; no, he joined the Blacks. The Blacks are widely regarded as the most hateful of _Darkers_ for different reasons. Some of those reasons are barmy, others not so much.'

Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

 _Oh, my god! It's like he declared open war on the ruling class after switching sides!_

'I'll tell you this in good faith, Hermione. The other Slytherins tolerate Harry for two reasons: First, he chose to be one of them when he could easily have made other arrangements and been heralded a hero, the establishment's favourite pet.'

Tracey stood up and gave her one last admonitory look that seemed so misplaced on that child-like face.

'And the second reason?' Hermione's voice quivered slightly.

'The Blacks have a nasty past, Hermione. If there ever was a family deserving the stigma placed upon them, it would be that one. They still have power and they still have some rather scary things going on. Better be careful, Honey...'


	9. HD: On the difference between

**On the difference between opportunity, disaster and foreordination**

* * *

Harry awoke with a start, drenched in cold sweat. The motionless body of Nott was still etched on the undersides of his eyelids; he couldn't help but shiver slightly. Rubbing his eyes, Harry tried to ignore the headache that came with the continued dreams of Nott's demise and the ensuing lack of sleep.

But time had flown by.

September, October and (to a lesser extent) November had been pure torture, but now things were getting better, thankfully. The extremely harsh cold the approaching winter solstice had brought with it broke the mood of his tormentors-most of the time, at least. The bone-rattling chill that seeped through some parts of the castle made lying in wait for hours a very uninviting business. Most people were also avidly following the inter-house Quidditch tournament, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. While he had initially been looking forward to flying, things were a bit different now, and he didn't deem it prudent to present a target in circumstances that could prove fatal.

Harry got up from his bed and slowly stretched. An undisturbed night's rest was always a very welcome if rare experience, so he was in reasonably high spirits when he picked up his robes and gently caressed the Black coat of arms. Thoughts of finally being able to talk to his grandfather welled up inside him, and he couldn't help but smile slightly.

'Good to see you in a fine mood today. Not your usual grumpy self this morning, Mr Black?'

The voice had come from the office and sounded more amused than berating. 'Yes – I'm rather looking forward to seeing my family.'

The matron made her way towards him and smiled crookedly. 'I still cannot get my head around the fact that you really are a Black... Well, show me your arm, young man!'

Harry obliged and watched her expression. At first she looked suspicious, then confused. Finally, she peered at him with very plain incredulity.

'Wh-When? How?'

'Madam Pomfrey, as much as I enjoy your company, did you really think I was watching you eagerly all the time out of pure politeness? It took me a while, but I think I have done quite well. What would your educated opinion on the matter be, ma'am?'

She continued to stare into his eyes, and he could see that her pride vied with her joy.

'You have done very well, Mr Black. It is no perfect work by a long shot, mind you, but there can be little doubt that you have mastered at least the initial stage. Are you interested in the Healing Arts?'

'Oh, yes! I have always wanted to learn about them, but Grandfather told me I should wait until I found an able instructor, since errors with these things might turn very unpleasant...'

He knew she had understood what he meant, as the turmoil behind her eyes was easy to spot. Officially, Madame Pomfrey was support staff, even though she held at least as much influence as a teacher. But she wasn't allowed to pass on her knowledge, strictly speaking.

After a while, she delicately spoke in a soft voice.

'Well, you know that I can't officially familiarise you with this noble branch of magic, Mr Black.' She paused slightly and gave a friendly smile. 'But as you have seen fit to honour me with your presence at least twice a week, I really can't help you picking up some things, can I? Merlin knows, I speak under my breath more often than is good for me, so you should really ignore anything I babble while I set to work, alright, Mr Black?'

'Haha! Thanks, madam, you are the best.' Harry couldn't help but feel elated. The Healing Arts had indeed been of very great interest to him for some time. In fact, besides matters of the mind and Charms in general he held them in highest esteem. There was also little doubt that Madam Pomfrey was extremely able. Even though he could observe the flow of magic as she had set to work, it had taken him nearly two months to be able to recreate the meanest of healing spells. But it really was so worthwhile that he wouldn't have cared to spend double that time.

She gave him a warm smile, but raised her finger in a sign of impending lecture.

'Now, Mr Black, I do still hope that you'll try to avoid injuries as best as you can. Self-inflicted injury will also not garner my attention, are we clear?'

'No worries, Madam. I do not really like being beset upon in the corridors – if you had any earnest doubt.'

'Don't get flippant with me, young man.' She wagged her finger accusingly, but he knew it was all still in good fun. 'Now – how about you trot along. It's nearly time for breakfast again.'

Harry smiled and gathered his things. Initially, he had been rather embarrassed that the matron had assigned him his personal bed, but in time he had come to appreciate it. He felt rather safe in the infirmary, too, not unlike his prolonged stays in the library, where he was kept safe by the legendary tantrums of Madam Pince. He had also gotten strangely close with the motherly healer. He was still perfectly respectful, but he knew she would probably not mind him dropping the act.

He finally made to leave and energetically walked towards the exit.

'Be careful, Harry. And have a nice holiday.'

Harry turned around and gave a boyish smile.

'You, too, Madame Pomfrey. Please stretch your legs and get some rest during my absence.'

Noting her chuckle, he left and made his way to the Great Hall. If there was a single regret on his mind at this moment, then it was that today would be a compulsory Defence against the Dark Arts lesson for him. He rummaged in his pockets and soon held the small piece of parchment in his hand.

' _Mr Black,_

 _As our previous arrangement indicated, you are required to partake in the last session of class before you leave Hogwarts for your family commitments. Depending on the results of your studies, I may be inclined to extend both your leave of absence, as well as your access to the restricted section._

 _ _Waiting to see your progress, I remain,  
Yours very truly and devoted,__

 _Aenor Eydís Rose'_

He couldn't quite tell if the memo was her way of having a bit of fun with him. He was rather thankful for her free pass to the library, of course. He had found out that such a thing was apparently most unusual when Madam Pince had tried to prove his slip a swizz for at least half an hour before returning it with an air of utmost frustration. He was also very grateful that she tried to help him study Occlumency, as the subject was of greater importance than anything right now. The Hogwarts library didn't specialise in obscure magics, especially those concerning the fragile human mind, and Harry had the explicit impression that someone had once _purged_ the library of more helpful tomes. Nevertheless, a few select works had helped him further along than he could have hoped by pointing to small details or even retelling stories of famous masters of their craft.

The extreme politeness of Rose's little snippet, however, clashed horribly with his memories of writhing on the floor in agony. Shuddering, he remembered how he'd felt stiff for two weeks after her little demonstration. He still didn't quite comprehend what had happened. His tentative theory was that she had not in fact tried to extract information, but made a very real try to overcome his defences with the sole intent to cause pain. He winced at the thought of how bad it would have been, had his initial efforts not rebuffed her...

Well–no matter. He had had some pretty excruciating lessons before, and as long as there was no mental scarring, he would put up with her sadistic streak for the benefits she granted him. Defence was probably the class he was furthest ahead in (after charms and not counting History of Magic, which he fully intended to never attend). He was glad that both instructors seemed to have taken an interest in him, though their approach was slightly different; where Rose seemed to prefer blood, torment and screams of anguish, Flitwick served tea and smiled.

 _~BLHD~_

Breakfast was uneventful as most students were not keen on stalking the cold castle so early in the morning, and Harry did most certainly not complain. For once, even the Prophet had nothing bad to say about either him or his family. _Something truly grave must be happening today..._

Just as he made his way out of the hall, he felt someone press the tip of a wand in his neck. Moaning softly, Harry cursed his luck.

'Walk!' A determined feminine voice increased the force to his neck, and he was guided to an old club room that belonged to the students of alchemy, but would not be in use today until much later. As soon as they entered, he heard some muttered spells being directed towards the door and portraits, but he didn't make any attempts to turn on his captor. Only in the most desperate of situations would he willingly take the first spell to the neck. That person would make a mistake sooner or later; they always did. The unknown student forced him into a chair and someone took his wand from within his right sleeve.

 _Okay, now_ that _is a bit worrying. It seems someone has finally done his homework._

Harry was actually kind of curious now about the person who had managed to sneak up on him, and was thus highly shocked when his captor walked around his chair and sat down on a desk quite a bit away yet directly in front of him.

It was Tracey.

'Good morning, and stop your gawking!' She casually held both wands and sat there, legs dangling far above the floor. It was kind of insulting that he had been overpowered by this little girl, but he knew she was a tricky one, even if she was usually content to play the role of best friend and sidekick; the fact that she had managed to alter her own voice so effectively that he had been unable to recognise her only served to prove the point.

'Tracey...' he muttered feebly. 'Look, if this is about Daphne then-'

A warning bang erupted from her wand, and he stopped talking that instant.

'Shut up, will you!? This isn't about your noble crap of self-sacrifice. I won't get involved, even if the both of you are so frustratingly stupid. You have two things to nod off, you will be on your way, and we will not speak of this again. Daphne doesn't and won't know, crystal clear?'

He nodded curtly.

'Good boy. In case you're wondering, I haven't told her about your motive, and I'll likely continue not to do so.' She paused for a bit here. 'Now onto the important matters at hand; I'm not here as Tracey, Daphy's best friend, but as the daughter of Amaryllis Davis, do you get my meaning?'

Her eyes narrowed, and the alarm bells in Harry's mind went off with an ear-splitting roar, causing him to stiffen in his seat.

'First, I have been forced to divulge a bit of information about you to Hermione. This includes your origins and some small hints about the general political landscape, as well as the Blacks. I have also warned her to stay away from your family. I doubt you disagree.'

Harry nodded once more. He didn't like to talk about these things, but if Tracey had done so on his behalf, he doubted Hermione would have the guts to go against her advice. There was also the small matter of two wands being pointed at him, of course.

'Good boy.' She said yet again and made a gesture as if to pet the air. 'The second matter is at least as serious. My mother officially suggests you "attend the Black Ball in an acceptable fashion. The accompanying guest of your choice will be of suitable presentability without being directly linked to your family." Those were the exact words of my mother. I do not know what she meant, and I didn't ask her. Just be a smart lad and do as you're told in this instance, get it?'

While Tracey's mother held no authority over him, it would nevertheless be prudent to heed direct advice here. He rarely got recommendations to specific courses of action from that direction, but he was certain they would not lead him astray.

'Alright, I shall do as Amaryllis suggests then.'

'Smart decision, Black.' With a smug expression, she threw his wand towards him, and the air about her changed. Now she was...just Tracey somehow.

She pranced towards the exit of the classroom and began whistling some ludicrous tune he wasn't familiar with. 'See you at Yule then, Harry. And by Salazar, solve your problems and make up with Daphy already!' She stuck out her tongue at him and disappeared through the door.

In disbelief, he allowed his gaze to follow her until she was completely gone. He would have to let his Occlumency down with her at some point. It really wouldn't be a stretch to believe that Tracey had a split personality hidden in that little frame of hers, and he really felt the need to be sure at times. Looking back at the situation, he pondered if Tracey's whole act of 'kidnapping' him had been meant as a reprimand for pushing his family and friends away. Sighing, Harry leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 _Well, maybe I deserved that a bit, but did she have to_ enjoy _it that much...?_

 _~BLHD~_

That afternoon, their last class was Defence against the Dark Arts. All the conversations died down as soon as Harry entered the classroom, making his way to a place directly by the windows. Some latecomers were casually chatting and approaching their usual seats, but after spotting him, quickly chose to sit somewhere else.

Five minutes before the class started, Professor Rose entered the classroom, yet Harry registered that even though she was early everyone was already seated and nobody spoke. _Wow – she really has trained them._

Rose wore thrilling light blue robes hinting at transparency that were just barely adequate for a teacher...possibly. _No wonder the boys stand at attention, at least._

'A good day to you. Even though this is our last day before you celebrate Yule or Christmas, it is good that you are punctual. Today, I wish to talk about something that is of great concern to your Ministry of Magic and may play a role in your attempt to pass your O.W.L.s.'

Even the two girls who had obviously only pretended to listen until now jumped and quickly refocused their attention towards the ravishing beauty at the front of the class.

'Now, we shall talk in some detail about what your good curriculum refers to as 'Dark Creatures'. How about you name me some, but to make things more interesting, give me your reasoning as to why you consider your nomination to be of 'Dark' descent. You have ten minutes to think about this. You may discuss it with your immediate partner. Begin!'

That was a surprisingly difficult question. Harry knew something of the matter, but this was not only a rather deep subject, it also was highly controversial. The class seemed to take the questions seriously, and a low hum of whispered discussions broke over the silence Rose's presence had instilled.

Fifteen minutes later, Professor Rose casually sat on the desk and clapped her hands twice to get their attention.

'As you all have had enough time to think about the matter now, enlighten me with your musings, please,' prompted Rose.

That idiot Macmillan pompously raised his hand with confidence.

'Doxies, Professor Rose. They are poisonous and infest wizarding houses. They harm magicals.'

 _Pathetic._

'Alright, Doxies are up for discussion. Does someone have any thoughts on them that they would like to share?' She looked challengingly around the class.

Tracey raised her hand. _Oh, this might be good_. Rose had a knowing smirk on her lips, but allowed Tracey to speak anyway. 'Yes, Miss Davis?'

'Oh, I don't know _anything at all_ about Doxies, Professor,' Tracey said in a plummy yet eager voice, clearly and quite amusingly imitating Macmillan. 'But I'd like to bring up mice for discussion as 'Dark Creatures'. They can infest wizarding houses and pass on diseases. They also bite, and I don't like them scurrying around. I am forced to say they harm my peace of mind.'

 _Did not disappoint, that one._

Half the class was hooting with laughter, and Macmillan was shooting Tracey murderous glares.

'What Miss Davis so eloquently pointed out is indeed a valid point. I would have done so differently, but her argument stands. Doxies usually only try to defend themselves when disturbed. They show no other instinct than most non-magical animals of the wild, except some tendency to cohabitate with magicals. Any more fearsome creatures to put forth?'

Hermione raised her hand. Rose nodded, and the girl started voicing matter-of-factly, 'Dementors, Professor. They don't eat wizards or witches or need them to reproduce, but they still try to cause harm to any human they come across. As they don't stand to benefit themselves, one might call them unreasonably evil – or 'dark', I suppose.'

'A better answer, Miss Granger. But I tell you there are non-magical beasts on every continent that do kill for inscrutable reasons, sometimes in shocking displays of cruelty. Let us take the common domestic cat for example. The majority of breeds will try to catch and kill most small rodents, even if they do not need them for immediate nourishment. If you ever observe a cat playing with a caught mouse, you may also develop a great deal of sympathy for the little vermin. I don't mean to say that these actions serve no purpose for the cat, rest assured they do. From an outsider's perspective, however, it is easy to mistake these actions for plain cruelty. You should therefore be careful to dismiss actions you fail to understand as "evil".'

The class looked unsure, but no one else raised a hand. Even Hermione looked thoughtful.

'Let me be very clear; there does exist only a single creature that deserves the label of being 'dark'. You may have heard all the stories about Inferi, Boggarts, Dementors and whatever else. I tell you, these creatures were created by wizards and witches themselves often enough, and their obvious intent to cause harm was implanted into them. A tool that is forged to hurt others can hardly be evil, wouldn't you agree? Others, like the Boggart in our line of examples, do simply follow their natural instincts. Those instincts are not inherently more malicious than those of other creatures and beasts, just because they have evolved to prey upon humans. Surely, you would agree if I said a bear wasn't more inherently evil than a squirrel for example. Both are omnivores, but just because one of those two can actually kill humans for the sake of its needs, does not make it more nefarious. This, dear students, is ignorance and arrogance at its most primal.'

The class was completely silent. A few seconds later, Hermione again raised her hand. 'Professor, but you said there _was_ a single 'Dark Creature'. Which is it then?'

'Oh, yes indeed. Tell me then, Miss Granger! What do all those creatures _lack_ , that would turn them into truly evil entities?'

Harry could see Hermione thinking furiously about this for a while, before her expression turned to shock. 'Freewill, Professor.'

'Freewill it is, Miss Granger. In short, to be able to objectively and subjectively differentiate to a certain degree between several options based on concepts of morale, efficiency, repercussions, experience, et cetera. A higher consciousness. Now, have another guess at our 'Dark Creature'!'

Several others had obviously gotten there at last. Bones looked outraged.

'Surely, Professor, you don't mean to say that witches and wizards themselves are 'Dark Creatures'?'

'Oh my, Miss Bones, I did not mean anything by it.' Rose smiled sweetly. Not bothering to hide her sarcastic streak, she led them on, 'I was merely innocently following the logic laid out by our good Ministry to the bitter end. It is so very regrettable that it somehow turned into this mess at the end, isn't it?'

Bones was fuming but held her tongue. Professor Rose wasn't finished yet, in any case.

'Maybe we should approach the matter from a different perspective. Wizardkind is, after all, not the only magical creation capable of higher judgement. Name some other, please.'

Macmillan seemed bent on recovering from his earlier blunder.

'House-elves, Professor. Centaurs or goblins.'

Someone in the back of the class snorted at the mention of elves.

'Very good, Mr Macmillan. Now, dear students,' she smiled sweetly, 'of how many elvish Dark Lords have you ever heard? Of how many centaurs making a bid for supreme ruler of the universe? And for all the talk of goblin-rebellions your History of Magic teacher is sure to bore you with later, have you ever heard of a _single_ murder committed by any goblin against a witch or wizard? Anyone? For your information, you have not because, while Goblins do not refrain from attacking most brutally in times of war or as an act of defence, they consider _casual violence_ to be so extremely abhorrent that it physically revolts them to even consider such actions.'

Again, the class was silent. Harry had to admit that she was rather proficient at manipulating them. Several people were listening to her with open mouths. Others, it seemed, were only managing to not embarrass themselves because the frequency of her strange revelations had somewhat blunted them.

Seeing the prevailing looks of astonishment, Rose sighed.

'If you manage to brand this into your brain, I will be most pleased with the class: Question the world, question the status-quo, and–most importantly–always question yourselves! As your homework over the holidays, I expect your thoughts on the term 'dark'. You may refer to 'Dark Creatures', 'Dark Lord', 'Dark Wizard or Witch', 'Dark Item, Object or Artefact'. You may even make use of the term 'Dark Arts' if you truly wish to fail my class. I expect honest thoughts on the matter, so do not bother asking your parents, as the ongoing bigotry in this country has led to some very strange beliefs and maimed intellects. This will also be the first time I shall set a minimum length for your assignment; as you have a lot of time for pondering and writing, let us say you need to submit a minimum of three feet. If I catch anyone copying the thoughts of another, you may both repeat the assignment with double the length in half the time.'

The class collectively groaned.

Professor Rose, in turn, flashed a smile. 'Enjoy your holidays!'

Most students returned the gesture. Even without Rose's glance, however, he knew that he wasn't dismissed, so he gathered his things with deliberate slowness, trying to not arouse suspicion amongst his classmates. Some of those Hufflepuffs might become even angrier with him if they thought there was something _inappropriate_ going on between him and their idol.

Soon, they were alone again, and Harry felt oddly queasy as she silently closed the door. But she simply returned to her seat and gave him a cocky smile that sent a shiver creeping down his spine. _Merlin! Those robes really are even more suggestive up close..._

She had no doubt noticed his looks and obviously basked in his nervousness.

'So _..._ what did you think about the lesson, Mr Black?'

Harry was very aware how he had to make a considerable conscious effort to keep his gaze on her face. _Damn – she's toying with me._

'I thought it was pretty good. I personally enjoyed how you mocked the Bones girl most, but I do appreciate your skill in playing an audience, as well.'

She gave him an amused grin, but didn't respond to his suggested topic. 'What did you use your carte blanche for, these past months?' she asked.

'Only two matters, and you may check with Madam Pince on that, Professor. Firstly, of course, I concentrated on the advancement of my Occlumency. As a second matter of interest, I also discovered that the barrier you so aptly cast during our first lesson curiously enough does not seem to be featured in any publicly disclosed work Hogwarts has access to.'

He had gone pretty far with this, but he needed to know where he stood with this person sooner or later. He was also very eager to gain any amount of control over the conversation, as his wandering eyes, shame, embarrassment and fear (though he hoped she would not pick up on that) gave her all the cards she needed to play.

'What curious research subjects, Mr Black!' she responded loftily. 'How would you rate your progress on the matter of your defences then?'

'Satisfying, Professor.' He really was quite confident.

'Interesting. Last time, you had to overcome, how shall we call it, a more straight-forward attempt on your defences. What would you say should be the natural next step, Mr Black?'

Harry frowned. _Well, if she had tested him on power... OH, DAMN!_

Immediately, he concentrated with every fibre of his will on his mind, and–sure enough–soon found several infinitesimal penetrations. Panicking slightly, he let a great current of magic flood through the rails of his psyche and didn't stop until he felt several small and foreign presences retreat.

Professor Rose looked victorious.

'When did you start?' Harry asked, trying to hide the exhaustion and pain in his head that was the result of his forceful and rather brutish actions.

'Naturally, as soon as I took a seat. I would have thought our past dealings had put you a little on edge, but I am so very glad to see how relaxed you are in my company, Mr Black.'

 _Yeah – and not gullible, at all._ _But this could be bad. Depending on how much she saw, I may have to call upon Grandfather to do something I really would prefer not to do_.

'How-How much did you see?'

'Do not worry, Mr Black. I did not try to dig, as you would likely have sensed my incursion then. In truth, I only saw the very thoughts on the immediate surface and first layer of your consciousness.'

She paused for a short while, before she added with a thoughtful look.

'Trauma-induced near pathological fear of women is rather unusual, Mr Black, but I will not inquire, of course.' She flashed him something that could pass for an apologetic look in the right light. 'You could definitely do worse, though. At least, you will always be on guard.'

Harry was really peeved that this had come up, but there was no way out any more. He also idly wondered how many men hadn't been 'on guard' against this show of immaculacy before him – and paid the price. Rose was powerful. Really powerful. In fact, she was quite blatantly a foreign prodigy, though this made even less sense, as he had never heard of her before. He desperately needed to get more information about her...

'Professor, please! That matter is quite private, I would rather prefer it if you did not share it with others.'

'Oh, don't worry, Mr Black. That would be so very, how would you say it here, un-Slytherin-ish in my approach?' She laughed merrily. 'I doubt that word is okay as it is, but your language is so strangely restrictive with compounds.'

 _Don't mind her obvious bait to lure you into speculating about her mysterious origins. What could she have meant with 'un-Slytherin-ish'...? Oh, thrice be damned! She was talking about freely giving away blackmail material, wasn't she? Damn it! Another tricky one to deal with._

'Your method of ejecting me from your mind was quite efficient. While you were not able to perceive my attack without help, your defences have seen some definite improvement since last time. I think you shall be ready for your final exam on this matter before the end of the year. I therefore do intend to extend your hitherto existing privileges. You should be warned though; I consider your progress at the moment to be only at about 40% of what you need for the last test. It would be very much in your interest to keep improving, Mr Black.'

She gave him a haughty simper. 'Is there some other matter, or is it simply my presence you're enjoying so much right now?'

 _Merlin, she was dressing up like this to distract me, wasn't she?_

...And there it was. A sudden inspiration so brilliant it was scaring him slightly. It was also scaring him for several other reasons, of course, but it was still a good idea – probably.

'There was indeed another matter, Professor Rose.'

She looked at him in honest interest and ever so slightly inclined her head. _The world is so cruel that someone who so casually desecrates your mind takes the shape of an angel incarnate._ _How should he best approach the matter...? Ha! Why not let her have a taste of her own medicine to break her pace._

'Say, Professor. Are you pure-blood?'

Harry immediately congratulated himself on his chosen course of action. Whatever Professor Rose had expected, this wasn't it. Her eyes only gave away pure confusion. Then quite suddenly, her expression changed to a dangerous smirk that seemed daunting.

'And why would that be any of your concern?' The atmosphere grew cold. 'Or why should I refrain from transfiguring you into catnip right now and look for the caretaker's kitten?'

 _Damn! The problem with shocking people is that it is always hard to calculate just how far you can push them. Don't anger the scary ones, Harry! Well – no honourable retreat possible now anyway._

'Because I think you are, Professor. You hold yourself with the air of someone of a certain background. You hinted about family in Britain, and I somehow got the feeling you did not mean your favourite Muggle Uncle Tom. You casually refer to the coming holidays as Yule instead of Christmas. Even though you suffer from a language barrier, as you claim, your grasp on formal English is quite profound and hints at some kind of formal training, lessons or at least passing interest. There were a few other things, but I think those are the more obvious clues.'

 _You pulled the tail, now there is nothing else to do but wait and find out what lurks behind the bush..._

The young professor gave him a hard look, but didn't otherwise move an inch. Those astonishingly light-blue eyes seemed frozen in place, deep in thought. Finally, she once more elegantly crossed her long legs and stared at him with an expression of extreme calculation. 'You still have not really stated your intent, Mr Black. I see no reason to reveal my personal view on this as long as your purpose remains unclear to me.'

 _Well – that could have been worse._ Harry slowly exhaled. 'I meant no disrespect, Professor. I simply thought that if you were by chance interested in more traditional views on wizarding culture, you might savour the chance to spend a sociable evening in fine company at the Black Ball this Yule.'

She raised an eyebrow, but he could see she was amused. 'You are quite bold for your age, asking out a woman six years your elder, Black. Are you sure you are not, in fact, more of a Gryffindor?'

'Please, Professor. That is a formal occasion, hardly some smutty tryst.'

Suddenly, she exploded with a laughter that was unnervingly captivating, if not exactly lady-like. 'Smutty tryst, Black? Maybe you _are_ older than you seem. But you are aware that my position as teacher would never allow me to accept an invitation made by a student of mine to a private evening of cultivated socialising, no matter how respectable the occasion may be, am I right?'

Her eyes wandered to the window. 'If I were to receive a formal and official invitation by the Head of House Black or his scion, I may, on the other hand, find myself amenable to the idea.'

She glanced at him as if measuring him up. 'But why would you be interested in making such a curious invitation in the first place, Mr Black? I am sure there will be many people of fine standing present, but I very much doubt your House is so charitable as to give these opportunities for free...?'

 _Aha! A true pure-blood to the bone._ This was as good as he could've hoped for. 'How about this, Professor? You teach me about the principles of your remarkable barrier technique, and I will have you enjoy a very good evening and personally or by extension of my grandfather introduce you to whomever you like?'

He was sure her eyes sparkled for a second. Being introduced by the Head of House Black was more than enough to open doors. Within certain circles, at least.

'That seems...acceptable. If you so ardently crave my company over the holidays, I think I may just do you this little favour. I do want guarantees, however, that you will not reveal what you come to learn from me to anyone but your direct descendants, is that clear?'

 _That is...applaudably paranoid._ 'That seems reasonable, Professor Rose. I shall arrange for an official invitation to be sent to you this very evening, then.'

'I shall look forward to it. You are very lucky, you know.'

That perplexed Harry. Truly unsure what to expect, he himself now raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to go on.

'You get a beautiful young lady to grace your arm for the evening; may weasel more information out of your mysterious teacher; present an unknown but powerful witch to your grandfather; introduce said witch to other families as an acquaintance of your house; and annoy the best friend of your childhood sweetheart in the process. A truly felicitous turn of events if you ask me.'

She smiled benignly, but Harry stood stock-still. It was evident that she wanted to let him know that she could read him at least as good as he could. Given that he was a known entity within some parts of magical Britain's society, he was, in fact, quite sure that she knew a lot more than him. But this was still a good opportunity. And he really _could_ not wait to see Tracey's face.

 _Oh, this is going to be so good! That's what she deserves for relishing in bossing me around like that..._

Nodding to his official date, he slowly walked to the door.

'You know, Black, now that I am aware of your little problem, we'll have to spend some private moments together before the ball. To get you acclimatised, you know? I don't want you jumping all over the place every time you touch my waist while we dance.' Her glee was as obvious as his sudden sobering.

 _Please not another sadistic tease! Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all..._


	10. HD: Pivot

**_AN:_** _The next few chapters will focus on an even smaller cast of characters than before. Please do keep in mind that the intended length for each book of this fiction is around 150k words. Therefore, these characters do not 'highjack' the story or anything like that in the bigger picture. For those of you specifically worried about the plot, don't worry; it'll pick up pace and become clearer soon enough._

 _-YakAge_

 **Pivot**

* * *

Getting safely onto the train had been laughably easy. Still deep in thought about how to best go about the upcoming dance, he casually traced his wand three times along the hinges of the door of the compartment he had just entered and nodded in satisfaction. Needless to say, he had enjoyed formal training, so the obligatory part of the occasion didn't worry him, but Tracey's warning had been ominous...

Inviting Rose was a small bet with some risk involved, but the opportunity had just been too tempting. It would be difficult for her to play three faces: _teacher, companion, pure-blood witch with interest in politics_. There was a very real chance that he might be able to uncover more about her past, though he would have to be subtle about it. He would gladly have taken her without the added bonus of her sharing some fascinating piece of magic, but now he was just ecstatic. The only real chance this could blow up in his face would be if she was some kind of international criminal or something. _Haha – good joke, right? – Right?_ Sadly, the longer he pursued that disturbing line of thought, the more plausible it seemed. _Come on, you're losing your grip on reality, Black! Just because she is an otherworldly beauty of mysterious background with unholy powers and a sadistic streak does not mean she is up to no good! Right? – Please agree with yourself already!_ Trying to drive the doubts from his mind, he forced his brain on to different matters, idly wondering who else would attend the ball.

No matter, he would know sooner or later. If there was to be someone to pay special attention to in attendance, his grandfather would be sure to tell him. Softly shaking his head, he turned around...

And found two wands pointed directly at his face.

 _Oh for the love of...This is getting ridiculous! How can I stumble from one mess into the next, every day? Guess the compartment wasn't empty after all._

Lifting his hands in a plain gesture of surrender, he eyed the people standing by the window. They, in turn, were observing him with miens of fear and shock.

 _Well, they don't seem to be able to get ahold of the situation, so I may as well take the lead._

'Do you mind if I sit down? You can still hex me once I've made myself comfortable, I am sure.'

In one fluid motion, Harry smartly sat down and started to make a slow grab for his bag.

'Stop! I tell you, I'm serious here; stop right now, Black!' That one sounded quite frightened.

'Do you really think I have my wand in my bag? If that were the case, Madame Pomfrey would have had to sent my ashes back to the family long ago.' Harry responded calmly.

He picked up a book he had (not entirely legally) copied from the restricted section and began to read with a clear air of disinterest. The charm would wear off in a few days, and he really wanted to get through them all. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl shrug in a helpless manner.

'Why shouldn't we get back at you for John, while we have you here, Black? He is still in St. Mungo's and Professor Sprout hass told us the healers were unsure if he'd recover before the next term! How can you be such a nutcase, hexing people left and right just because of their parentage!'

Harry gave them a stern look, trying to intimidate them while actually thinking fast. _John...John-who?_ _Oh yeah, there had been those two second years that had tried to be really smart with me._

The result truly had been more of an accident though, as the Hufflepuff had most unluckily been hit by both Harry's volleys of spells and those of his mate. _He's a Muggle-born? How can I be bothered to learn the family history of each and every of my would-be assailants...?_

Harry crossed his legs and tried to imitate Rose's condescending glare of pure confidence. 'And why do you think you would fare any better?' He raised an eyebrow.

The other two exchanged nervous glances. 'I don't like this, Justin! He's creepy! Maybe we should just switch compartments.'

'Don't be daft, Leanne! We have our wands drawn, and he's holding a book!'

'Yeah – but why's he so confidently holding a book when we're holding him at wand-point? Something's off! I'm outta this.' She lowered her wand and sat down as far away from him as possible.

 _Haha, one down, one to go_.

Finch-Fletchley seemed rather reluctant to make a lone stand against Harry and, after nervously licking his lips a few times, sat down next to his friend. Harry could hear fierce muttering, but he tried to ignore it, mostly because he was itching to have a go at this _Patronus_ charm, yet it'd probably be wise to wait until he was home...sadly. Why was the emotional component such a driving force for this particular spell? It looked like this might turn into a project of a few weeks.

He heard someone clearing his throat.

'Can I be of assistance, Mr Finch-Fletchley?'

'Where are you skulking about when you don't attend Defence?' the Hufflepuff demanded.

'The library.'

'Why don't you come to History of Magic?' questioned Finch-Fletchley, diving into the act as the worst hobby-constable in the history of semi-professional interrogations.

'I prefer the company of books to that of boasting old men.'

That didn't seem to sit well with the girl. 'How can you say that? That man's a hero! Look how many Dark Wizards he's captured...'

'I am truly thankful. He is a paragon of goodness and an exemplar to us all.' He raised another sarcastic eyebrow. 'Happy now?'

'You're just so mean because he busted your family! Serves them right if you a...'

Suddenly, Harry was struggling to keep himself from slapping the silly girl.

'And you are an expert on the matter, I presume? If you really wish to have the opportunity to enjoy "Christmas", I suggest you keep these views to yourself while in my company...'

The boy looked outraged. 'You can't threaten her like that!'

Harry set his book aside for the first time since sitting down and growled, 'Watch me!'

The girl shuddered and kept her mouth shut. The boy seemed a bit braver.

'Why do you defend them like that anyway? You didn't have to side with those _Darkers._ Why in the blazes would you choose them?'

'Which girl do you fancy, Mr Finch-Fletchley? How do you feel about Leanne?' Both of them blushed, but Harry continued, unabashed.

'Oh! I am _ever so_ sorry to embarrass. I thought we were opening a friendly chat among schoolmates to divulge our innermost feelings. Sorry to have misread that.'

The others held their tongues. Harry thought this would do, so he turned his gaze once more to that marvel of spellcraft...

'Did you really kill Nott?' the girl asked in a wispy voice.

'You know what? This may just be the first time anyone has actually _asked_ me that. I think it curious that the Prophet and others are so sure of the whole affair, but I am very certain they have their sources of good repute. How could people like our marvellous Professor Prewett make mistakes, after all?'

The girl looked puzzled. 'What does Professor Prewett have to do with that?'

 _Merlin, they're hopeless._

'I misspoke. Please forgive my uneducated views on such trivial matters as my own innocence.'

He was getting riled much too quickly and knew it to be shameful that he couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but how could people be so ignorant and clueless?

 _~BLHD~_

The rest of the ride passed in near silence if one were to discount the occasional prefect trying to force his way through the door. His unsettled companions shared looks of disbelief between the door and him, obviously wondering if they would eventually be allowed to leave.

Once the train came to a halt, Harry walked over and simply opened the door by hand. Both of the others were staring at him, mouths wide open. Harry shrugged. 'Why would I bar anyone inside from leaving? Seriously...'

Stepping into the buzzing mass of bodies that was King's Cross gave him a strange sense of déjà vu. Only three months before had he been so anxious to start his life at Hogwarts, yet now it was just all so messed up. Sure, the last weeks had not been bad per se, but that was only because he was getting used to the ongoing attacks on his person. It was kind of sad, really. Harry was very uneasy about the fact that he probably would at least have been in St. Mungo's already if not for his extensive training before school and his other advantages. He felt oddly disconnected from the person that had entered this train on the first of September, and didn't think that a good thing.

'How are you, Harry?' Thankfully there was something to serve as a constant link to better times. An anchor, even a lifeline. He suppressed his instinct to rush to his grandfather, but thought an open smile was forgivable.

'Not too bad, Grandfather. But I am very glad to be back for now.'

Arcturus nodded and indicated a secluded part of the station. 'We should hurry along, Harry. There is undesirable company about, and we should talk in a more hospitable environment.'

Harry followed his grandfather to a remote spot still inside the barrier. 'Take hold of my arm, Harry. We will be travelling home directly.'

Harry really didn't like apparating, but there was no way around it because Arcturus seemed to have some kind of schedule. Sighing, he grabbed the sleeve of his grandfather.

Distortion and deformation. The feeling that his body was being drawn through some zone of negative pressure. A constant impression of extreme strain and painful darkness, polluted with eerie sounds. The feeling of being watched. Different shades of darkness. It seemed to go on and on, and Harry briefly speculated something had gone wrong and looked around, forcing his eyes open.

...which was a mistake.

Suddenly, everything was aflame and immense heat engulfed his body, threatening to swallow him whole. He started screaming in terror as thousands of mountain-high walls of blinding colours pressed against him from all directions. Great eruptions of deadly green fire tore up his field of vision, forcing him to shut his eyes. Harry _felt_ death coming from all angles and tried to fight back, but the suction drew him mercilessly forward, ever forward into the barrage of his doom. He let out a piercing shriek of agony as he collided with the first of what looked like innumerable barriers. Time seemed to slow down in an effort to prolong his torture, as wall after wall crashed into his body, every single one threatening to shatter his very core. After the fifth he had lost his voice. After the tenth he felt his limbs grow stiff from spasming. After the twenty-third his senses grew clouded, until finally–he had long stopped counting–he thankfully sank into the welcome depths of oblivion.

 _~BLHD~_

Harry woke with a start. He was lying on a bed. Someone's bed. His entire body felt like it had been pressed through a meat chopper. He tried to raise his head, but white-hot pain rushed up his nerves and Harry, wincing and cursing, let himself fall back again. Carefully closing his eyes, he remembered what at the time had seemed like a very earnest attempt to destroy his sanity–yet again.

'Master Harry is awake! Minnie will be back at once, Master Harry! Oh, everyone has been so very worried...'

He heard the shrill voice of one of their elves fill the room and immediately relaxed as best he could. If he was somewhere under their supervision, he wouldn't need to worry for now. But even these small and feeble thoughts seemed to be too much for now, and soon he couldn't muster the willpower to pay attention any more. Waiting for the pain to recede, he sighed and let his thoughts fly away...

 _~BLHD~_

Birds were tweeting outside the room, and he felt the welcome warmth of stray rays of light on his face when he next woke up. This time, he didn't attempt to open his eyes. 'Water...' he meekly called to the room around him. He felt parched. Someone pressed a glass in his left hand and helped him drink.

'Thank you...' Harry wondered why he sounded so very weak. Still, he didn't wish to pass out again, even if he really needed to know where he was. Slowly, he opened his eyes to the blinding brightness of the room. After blinking a dozen times, he started making out the familiar faces of Cranky, Minnie and Arcturus. They all looked worried and relieved in equal measure.

'What happened?' He was having difficulty remembering a lot about what happened after he'd left the train. It seemed all so indistinct right now...

'That's what I intended to ask _you_ , Harry. How are you? Do you want to rest, or do you rather wish to talk?' Arcturus sounded stricken.

'Talk...' He had enough experience with recovering from painful injuries by now to be sure that he wouldn't be able to sleep for some time again.

'If you are sure, Harry. Cranky, bring us a potion to clear his mind a bit, but nothing strong enough to interfere with those that ease his pain.'

He heard the very faint sounds of elven apparition and a few seconds later was given a small vial to drink. He leaned back again, but after a few minutes the haze on his mind seemed to lift a bit.

'Well, Harry, I am very glad that you are awake again, but I will not conceal from you that you had us in a state of panic. We apparated from King's Cross to our mansion in Wales, but when we arrived, you were just barely hanging on. You have been here dozens of times before, so I do not think it could have been any enchantment impeding you, but it was, undoubtedly, a very grave situation...'

'The wards...' Harry tried to instil some semblance of order into the events that had unfolded after he had gotten off the train. 'How late is it?' _There was so much to do..._

'You slept for thirty hours, Harry, but I do not think that of real importance right now. What do you mean, "the wards"? How could the wards react to a Black?'

Arcturus looked confused and concerned for his grandson.

'One second, Grandfather...' With painful exertion, he forced himself to sit up. 'Minnie, please draft a letter for me. A formal invitation to the ball for a Miss Aenor E. Rose, currently residing at Hogwarts.' Allowing his aggravatingly slow thoughts to unfurl themselves for a bit, he added, 'And please include my sincerest apologies for the delay. Use the parchment for official matters of House Black and bring it to me once you are finished, so I can sign and seal it.'

The small elf nodded eagerly, all the while shooting him compassionate glances of concern. Arcturus seemed thoughtful, so Harry began to explain.

'I promised her an official invitation yesterday, or the day before that...the last day of lessons, whenever that was. But what I want to discuss is best spoken of in private, anyway...'

But then he had an even better idea. 'My wand...'

Cranky slowly offered him the piece of wood that lay on his bedside table. 'And a small flask...'

Arcturus seemed to have caught on and immediately conjured a small crystal flask. Harry pressed the tip of his wand to his temple and concentrated on his first attack as he had entered Hogwarts, the strange impressions he'd gotten in his first charms lesson and the other events where his Occlumency had broken down and forced him to be washed away by the ancient magics of the castle. He also added a brief excerpt of the conversation he had had with Daphne in the old storeroom. Concentrating hard, he forced the memories to replicate and brought the copy as a silvery strand towards the glass.

Even this small ordeal had left him feeling completely drained, so he once more shut his eyes.

'I have omitted the actual incident in question, but you will be able to string it together. Please destroy the memory once you are finished with it, Grandfather.'

Arcturus looked apprehensive, but also determined, his eyes boring into Harry's own, so Harry braved a very small smile that must have looked quite forced.

'If you think this is necessary, I will have a look at once. Cranky will take care of your needs, but please consider resting as much as possible for now. You still have more than a few days before the ball and should make good use of them. We can talk later, once you feel better, Harry.'

Arcturus grabbed his shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. 'I am glad you are back for now, Harry. Please rest and let me take care of the invitation.'

Harry could not help but feel quite relieved and, for the first time in more than three months, allowed his body to relax.

As he slowly slid down, he heard some softly murmured words of his grandfather. ' _Rest_ , Harry! Let me take care of everything.' It had been another of _those_ days. Slowly the weight of his eyelids overwhelmed his remaining strength, and he fell back into the comforting embrace of darkness.

 _~BLHD~_

'What are those voices in the dark, Uncle?' A young and eager voice.

'Something you need not fear.' An older, kind voice.

'Sometimes they talk to me, or whisper things. It's gibberish, but today I had that strange feeling I could understand one of them.'

'What did it tell you?' the second voice answered calmly but with an air of interest.

'Nothing, Uncle. It asked me about something.'

'Of what did it wish to learn, young man?'

' _Life..._ '

 _~BLHD~_

Harry awoke with a jolt. He felt sweaty, and quickly looked out of the window to his right. It was obviously night time. He carefully tried to sit up and discovered that he felt quite good to his surprise and relief. Harry's eyes scanned the room, but found it empty. Recalling at least most of the conversation he had had with his grandfather, he ascertained that he was indeed at their second mansion in the country. He had stayed here often enough. Sometimes, his grandfather liked to enjoy a stay out of the city, and this estate had luxuries their rather small abode in London did not offer. Well – 'small' was a matter of perspective.

He got up. Striding across his room, he found his trunk sitting beside a handsome armoire. A small note lay thereon.

' _Cranky has restocked the trunk with forbidden tomes of family origin, Master Harry._ '

Harry sniggered as the note crumpled and vanished in his hand as soon as he'd read it. A second later, Cranky popped into being.

'Cranky is glad to be able to tell young Master Harry from his blanket again. How is Master Harry feeling?'

'Fine, Cranky, but drained. In fact, I was just on my way to plunder the kitchens.'

'There will be no need for Master Harry to act the vagabond,' the elf said reprovingly. 'Cranky will have Kreacher cook something up. Maybe Master Harry would like to make himself presentable first? Cranky will arrange an attire that may suffice for the occasion.'

Harry looked down at the old elf in curiosity. 'Do we have guests, Cranky?'

The servant of House Black chuckled darkly. 'Oh – yes. Please hurry, Master Harry. I will have Kreacher serve your meal in twenty minutes.'

Fifteen minutes later, Harry made his way downstairs, wearing formal dress robes of midnight green. The cold shower had gone a long way towards bringing him back from the dead, and he felt ready to tackle whatever the rest of the day might throw at him. He lovingly caressed the ancient handrail. _Buildings and desks truly only ripen as they age..._

'Cranky has prepared Master Harry's repast in the small study, next to the smoking room. Please follow Cranky, sir.'

Harry raised a dubious eyebrow. 'A meal in the study, Cranky?'

'Well, Cranky has been curious about that himself, Master Harry,' the ancient creature answered indignantly. 'But Master Arcturus has been trying to accommodate our guest. Old Master Phineas would have flogged his grandson if he ever knew. The old master was safeguarding the Black family books most close-fistedly.'

'Sounds like a smart man, Phineas Niggelus Black.'

'Cranky thinks Master Harry and Master Phineas would have made most excellent company. Though Cranky fears that both Masters may have gone a long way in emptying the coffers of this noble house in an attempt to obtain all tomes of forgotten and powerful magics gold can buy.'

'You say that like it's a bad thing, Cranky.' Harry's eyes shone with enthusiasm. 'I can't wait to empty some of our vaults at Gringotts. Just how many rare books do you think I could buy with all that gold...?'

Cranky looked stunned and waggled a finger in scolding. 'Master Harry should not joke about these matters. Master Harry cannot be allowed ruin this family over his obsession with knowledge.'

Harry just gave a hearty laugh. 'Don't worry, Cranky. I was just joking–mostly. But perhaps depleting a small country of magical tomes, at least? As my coming of age present?'

The elf appeared placated enough. 'If Master Harry behaves...perhaps.' He knocked on a door in front of him.

'Come in, come in!' Arcturus' voice sounded genial. _He must have been drinking._

Cranky slowly pushed the big door open. Inside were Arcturus, Kreacher...and Professor Rose.

'Harry! Do come in and join us. You do know Miss Rose, of course, so we can put introductions aside.' Harry's eyebrows were both nearing his hairline, but he took a seat nevertheless.

Professor Rose was wearing a very elegant dress of a silvery white material and a _truly_ impressive amulet of black diamonds that shone in alluring contrast to her eerily fair skin. He eyed it in disbelief, all the while softly shaking his head.

'Do you find the periapt to your liking, Mr Black? I do have matching accessories. We should try to coordinate our wardrobe for the ball, while we're on the subject.'

Harry sat down and put the delicate tray Kreacher had given him onto his knees. 'You have truly put my mind at ease, Professor. It is good to know that Hogwarts pays their junior instructors well enough to allow them luxury befitting royalty.'

She flashed him a challenging smile. 'I am not entirely sure why I should listen to you on this matter, _my prince_. I have only just been told that this so happens to be only your _second_ largest mansion in Britain, because the other one is apparently so pompous that even other pure-bloods may feel either threatened or insecure about it.'

Arcturus gave a small chuckle. 'I see the ball will be a very entertaining affair, but please remain civil for now. How are you, Harry?'

'Thank you for asking, Grandfather,' Harry replied. 'But I do feel quite healthy now. In fact, I can hardly await looting the libraries. I have not been here for quite some time, after all...'

'Multiple libraries? And you go on about some small trinket of mine, Mr Black?' Rose quipped.

'A "small trinket" of impossible worth, Professor. From what I know, all remarkable black diamonds are accounted for, yet here you are with your "trinket" whose centrepiece flaunts at least 500 carats. And let's not talk about how Muggles do not even know how to process the material correctly.'

'You are suspiciously well-informed, Mr Black. I didn't know you were so girly as to be interested in jewellery.' She grinned in that innocent way again.

'Ah – Miss Rose, but that would be because during one of his wilier and youthful phases Harry had a profound interest in such things. In the end, he settled for cuff-links, I seem to remember.' Arcturus truly relished in the harmless banter.

'Yeah–well I do appreciate their understated glint. Most people do not even recognise them for what they are, anyway...' Harry blushed a bit. It's not that he really was interested in that stuff any more, but he had thought them fitting and a bit of a joke, considering his family.

'Don't worry, Mr Black. But I've never been able to wear them to a ball yet because my dates could never keep up, until now, it seems. Black diamonds, it is. Any propositions concerning colours?'

'That would be the lady's decision, I believe, Professor.' It's not that he was trying to be accommodating; he could probably easily match whatever she suggested. Maybe his wardrobe was a _little_ excessive...

'How very gracious of you, Mr Black. We shall settle for a light fabric of midnight blue with minimal accentuations of light emerald for you, then. Formal stiff collar and cuffs, no crests or insignias, winter-styled dress robes reminiscent of the style that was popular in the 20s.'

Harry's simple nod seemed to annoy Professor Rose somewhat. 'Well, I _do_ prefer traditional clothing and subdued colours, Professor,' he tried to justify his response. 'Grandfather, I have offered that either you or I shall help introduce Professor Rose to some people of fine repute. I hope you find yourself agreeable?'

Arcturus swirled the brandy in his glass and deeply inhaled the aroma before taking a small sip. He looked at Rose with interest. 'I hesitate to even ask what you have done to earn this form of eagerness. My grandson is not exactly fond of socialising, and you may consider it a great personal show of favour towards yourself that he has agreed to do this, no less ask me to help him, Miss Rose. I will, of course, most certainly comply. I really could not refuse a request by my own grandson, but please do not treat this arrangement in an unworthy manner, Miss Rose.'

'Do not worry, sir. I am very grateful for the opportunity and shall not tax your benevolent efforts,' Rose returned magnanimously.

Arcturus nodded. 'It's been a very long day for me, so if you would excuse this old man? Harry, Miss Rose is a guest of the house for a while, so you need not concern yourself with extreme measures of hospitality. I have called a few other house-elves to the mansion, as the next days may get quite busy, and one of them will be of service to your delightful companion. Have a good night, Harry.'

'Miss Rose?' His grandfather turned towards their guest, and his expression tightened slightly. 'You should probably be aware that the ancient wards around this home of ours treat attacks of privacy, mind, soul, body, property and respect as acts of war against the Black bloodline. I think the last person foolish enough to exploit our hospitality still serves as a basic lesson in anatomy on display in the small vault next to the wine-cellar. Please enjoy your stay.'

Spotting a slight hint of concern appear on Rose's face for the shortest of moments, Harry couldn't keep a grin from his face.

'There's no need to worry, sir. In fact, young Master Black has been one of my favourite students since I began teaching at Hogwarts, and I've gone to some lengths to make his stay worthwhile.' Harry tried his best to turn his snort into an honest cough. He liked to think he succeeded. Rose continued, unabashed, after all. 'As much as I am in your care, the safety of your grandson shall be very much ensured, here and at Hogwarts.'

'I would appreciate that, Miss Rose, especially as I will be away for business a few days. Do find some rest, once you finish your talk. Have a good night.'

They quietly listened to Arcturus' steps fading away in the distance. Shoving the tableware aside, Harry shot the beauty opposite him a dark look.

'Professor, may I ask what the _hell_ you are doing here?' He had truly not expected this. He'd planned for some quiet days of peaceful studying in the library. Exactly how holidays should be. Not being constantly on guard, because a woman of nerve-wrecking loveliness was strutting around his home.

'Oh please, Mr Black! We are all friends here, are we not?' Her smile was benign.

'Of course, _Aenor_. So you are to stay here for two weeks, just to be friendly?' Harry remarked sarcastically.

She didn't even bat an eyelid. 'Well, I told you; we need to acclimatise you! I doubt you'll loosen up in just a few hours of my company, will you? You need exposure, young man.'

'Don't make it sound like some act of taming! Please, this is no easy matter for me, in case you cannot tell...' Harry shifted nervously in his chair. He had known there would be consequences to her finding out, but this situation had absolutely not occurred to him.

'I presumed as much. Since you decided to abandon the distance of etiquette first, you will not consider me presumptuous if I call you Harry, will you?'

Harry just sighed and shrank into his chair.

'Did you just sigh, Harry? I've also never heard you laugh as loudly as you did before you entered this room. I shudder in excitement for how fantastical my stay at this mansion already promises to be.' She was smirking as she filled her own brandy balloon.

'I _am_ a regular human being, you know?' Harry reminded her, somewhat indignantly. 'I can hardly walk around school sighing all the time, but I would like to abandon some of the pretences while at home, at least...'

'Oh, don't mind me. I was just observing that it clashes somewhat horribly with the aloof image you've built for yourself at school. The cool, unapproachable, distant and filthy rich scion of a very old family. Literally no friends, no interests besides his studies and, let's not forget, _somewhat_ unpopular.'

'If only I were as unapproachable as you would have me believe...I could've spent a great deal more nights in my own bed,' Harry murmured.

She, however, looked thoughtful. 'I've wondered about that. Obviously, I will not pry, but why do you put up with that anyway?'

Harry tried to fight his face from giving anything away. 'I just don't think it would be a good idea to show my hand so early. Also, I do not really wish to worsen the public standing of my family. Cursing everything that moves would hardly do my reputation any good. Not that much of my "reputation" remains by now, of course.'

'Do you honestly think those are just constant random attacks, Harry? You should make an effort to uncover who instigates half of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff to rough you up. If you don't wish to shock them into relenting, find their ringleader,' she dismissively waved a hand, 'and get it over with!' Harry got the distinct impression that she didn't mean for him to _scare_ his opponent into surrendering. She hadn't even added a slight pause, and nothing in her expression gave any hint that she had misgivings about such rather radical actions. Harry suppressed a shudder.

'Granted – I think I may be forced to do something in the end. I was prepared to put up with it for a while, but I know it is slowly getting to me. And I really need to resolve this before next year...'

'Why?' She inclined her head questioningly.

'Some friends of mine will be joining us at Hogwarts next year. You may meet them at the ball if you want to have a look. They are, eh, most protective and refreshingly ruthless.'

She grinned. 'More so than Greengrass? I really think she would've done well in Gryffindor, but for the sake of keeping the rest of the lions alive, it was probably better for the school to make her a Slytherin.'

'Daphne is bold, daring and relentless, but she's always very…forthright with her intentions. Thus, most people who incur her wrath give in and avoid any serious repercussions. Those others I spoke of, on the other hand, do prefer more traditional Slytherin methods; if they truly thought you an obstacle, they would befriend you and stab you in the back first chance they got, never wasting time with warnings. They are great friends but truly terrifying opponents to have.'

'I can imagine.' She smirked. 'As long as you can be sure they're on your side, at least.'

'Oh, there is absolutely no doubt, do not worry.' Harry answered the unspoken question calmly.

She shot him an interested look, but Harry had been helpful enough, he felt. For now.

'Is this why you're truly here, then? To get information about the House of Black?'

'No,' she answered immediately. 'Not that I'm not interested, Harry, but I think I stand to profit more by siding with your grandfather. I'm also rather curious about you, in case you hadn't noticed. I've hardly ever given private lessons, and many who have had the chance gave up sooner or later.'

'I wonder why?' he muttered darkly. 'It's not that I'm not thankful, but was that brutal attack really necessary that first lesson?'

'Not at all.' She carelessly waved a hand again. 'But I myself had felt several people trying to have a go at my mind, and it wasn't completely unthinkable that one of those was you. I will never refrain from specific courses of action if I think them the most beneficial. Sooner or later, you may encounter someone with comparable powers, and it is in your interest to get at least some experience before you have to fight the real deal.' Deep in thought, she swirled the amber liquid again.

'Whatever. I should warn you that my grandfather was quite serious. If you try to have a look at the magics he or I work when we did not expressly invite you to observe, you will die a most agonising death and your preserved body will join the others in the dungeons. Cranky will probably even put you on a pedestal, as you definitely would be one of the finer exhibits.'

'Why, thank you, Harry. That must've been the most morbid compliment I've received in all my life. No matter. I stand to profit in any case, so don't worry.'

'You do. But if we continue to be useful to one another, I may have no qualms revealing some things to you down the road. That is always the baseline. You probably know how these things work. There is a road to be travelled, and no shortcuts exist in matters of trust and allegiances.'

'Oh–don't fuss so much, Harry. You really sound like a geezer at times. But let's put that aside for now. Do you think your grandfather would object if you showed me around a bit?'

Harry glanced at her, confused. 'Why would he?'

'Well, it is a pretty grand building. I am sure there are some rooms better not shown to guests, are there not?'

'Don't worry. You will immediately know once you try to enter a room you should not see. Let's start with the dungeons! You can have a look at our collection of previous visitors.'

He gave her a mischievous smile. Rose's face was completely blank for a second, but then she laughed in her unrestrained and contagious manner that Harry had come to know already. 'Your family's sense of humour is really wicked, Harry.'


	11. HD: Thorns and Blossoms

**Thorns and blossoms**

* * *

Once again, Harry came to realise just how different these holidays had proven to be. Longingly, he remembered his dreams about spending days without a break in the library, delving blissfully into the depths of hidden knowledge stored away in the Black Collection. He certainly had not expected to pass every day of his holidays on edge. Or worse yet, have edges of blades passing him every day.

'Get up, Harry! We're definitely not done yet, so move your lazy bum!' commanded Aenor from the other side of the room.

And he did try to move. Once he put a bit of weight on his left leg, however, he let out an involuntary grunt and immediately plopped back onto the floor. Hesitantly, he inspected his knee, only to look away again at once, fighting the bile rising in his throat. _Damn! Sometimes I'd rather like to see red instead of white._

Concentrating hard, he flicked his wand. A thick darkness descended and shrouded Harry like a garb made of the void. Silently, all the while cursing his wound, he crawled towards a column behind which he tried to steady his breathing. For a fraction of a second, he allowed his Occlumency to ease up. Amongst the background noise of his own darkness, a brilliant pillar of ravaging magic stood in the middle of the room without moving an inch. Occasionally, small tendrils of black and gold seemed to creep along the floor. All of a sudden, an explosion of light of such ferocity that he feared to have suffered lasting damage to his eyes forced Harry to bring his senses back under control.

'That _is_ a neat trick, Harry. I'm impressed how I cannot cancel the spell, vanish the effect, part the darkness or siphon it away. I even just tried igniting it all, but I do admit that was more out of boredom. It also seems to create a lot of magical traces all around the room that somewhat hinder my efforts at locating you. I am, however, forced to wonder if this situation may not in fact be to my advantage. Not to make you worry, Harry, but joint injuries can be really painful. I wouldn't be surprised if you eventually retched all over your beautiful marble as soon as the rush of adrenaline recedes a bit. Maybe we should speed things up a bit, in your own interest, of course.'

The voice had a conversational quality, seemed perfectly calm and would not have been out of place at a poetry reading for bored wives of rich old men.

'Diffindo!' cried the same voice suddenly.

Harry groaned softly as he heard at least a dozen powerful cutting curses bounce all around the chamber. Somehow, his opponent seemed to have made them last _really_ long, too. Twenty seconds later, the ruckus still had yet to calm down in the slightest; it was only a matter of time before he would be hit by a stray. Just as he was considering putting up a shield, a menacing ray of pink light shot through the darkness before him. Harry crouched down and traced his knee with his wand again and again. Shielding himself would make him a sitting duck, as he was unable to cast anything else while controlling his Shield Charm.

 _Okay, let's try to formulate a strategy. She's much more powerful than you. She knows immeasurably more spells than you. You cannot fight her straight up, else you succumb to her attacks on your mind within a minute, even if she holds back. Delaying tactics do not work either, as she has proven to be easily capable of deconstructing your shields, in contrast to those stupid Puffs. She has more experience than you. She knows more about your magic than you about hers. She immediately grasped the structure of the room we are in, so any advantage I would've had in that area was nullified within the first twenty seconds. Kind of not looking good so far. My only advantage is that she agreed not to move for the entire thing. Yet none of my own spells have managed to penetrate even her_ first _layer of defence..._

He continued to move his wand up and down his knee and relaxed a bit as the pain did not seem as tormenting any more. _I only need to get one hit!_

Concentrating his vision on his wand, he was startled that his faithful companion didn't seem perturbed by this situation at all. Quite the contrary, he got the distinct impression that it would be very pleased if he managed to overcome his unfair disadvantage by _any means_ possible.

 _Well, if you insist. I doubt Grandfather will agree, but whatever. And I really don't want to lose after nothing but pathetic fleeing!_

He abandoned his attempt to tend to his wound and laid his wand down in front of him. After rummaging through the pockets of his robes, he held a small vial of dark violet liquid in his shaking hands. Harry couldn't tell if it was hesitation, anticipation or reluctance that stayed his hands for a few moments, but in the end, he broke the vial at his feet as silently as possible and began to work.

Thinking about the predominant doctrine regarding the Dark Arts and the usual preconceptions about their practitioners, Harry had to fight down a laugh. Here he was, staying in his ancient and grand home over the summer, practising dangerous magic all day long in grizzly duels until finally succumbing to the Arts. It was a bit worrying how many clichés he confirmed at this point in time. Harry also had to admit that even with a good solicitor, the fictional sentence for the magic he was about to invoke would stack up to at least a few years in solitary confinement. _Well, no matter. If she survives, she'll have to admit that I got a hit in. If not...Let's not think about that for now!_

Harry knew this to be a true all-in. He didn't have his dragon-hide gloves with him, and the poison in the slightly diluted blood would finish him in a few minutes. The spell he was trying to cast would hardly last ten seconds, so he saw no problem with that, as the elves that were bound to the estate would sense him weakening...probably. He was only able to replicate the first two stages of the attack, though it would still be quite dangerous indeed. Harry mixed his own blood, which he incidentally had in good supply, into the small puddle at his feet, and instantly, he could feel something alien tugging at his senses, but he resisted the pull as best as he could. Shadows seemed to dance around his fingers and the blotch on the floor. Thank Merlin, he hadn't forgotten the small casket of different inks this time and wouldn't have to resort to writing in his own blood again. He didn't think using magic with the intent to summon or create would mix well with using his own blood as a catalyst. He had heard gruesome stories about the foolish witches and wizards who'd tried these sort of things...

Hastily, he drew four rings of slightly pulsating blue runes around the puddle.

 _Submission /\ Contract /\ Guidance /\ Foe_

These runes were repeated dozens of times, as if in silent prayer. Strictly speaking, they weren't necessary, but he'd rather not fall victim to his own creations.

'I'm getting a bit bored over here, Harry. So I thought you might want to know that I intend to end this in twenty seconds,' Aenor parenthetically called out.

Trying not to think about what that devious witch could do to instantly end the match, Harry quickly drew connections from the puddle in the middle to each of the surrounding layers of runes.

'Ten, nine, eight...'

Harry pushed his hand fiercely into the blotch of mixed blood and started concentrating hard, remembering the feeling of losing oneself in absolute darkness, recalling the thrill of the unknown, bringing the voices of those unspeakable things back to his mind...

'Five, four...'

Before Aenor could finish her countdown, Harry was done.

Without a warning, the darkness seemed to stir in vivification. Fuzzy shapes. A whirlwind of black shadows. Harry fought hard against the nameless strain on his magic, willing his eyes to remain open, while the whole room seemed to blur and stretch with a sound like a ruler being drawn alongside a sharp edge. Harry was sure that this wasn't only his exhaustion playing tricks on him, as something erupted from between his fingers, and he couldn't help but shiver slightly and squelch the nausea as well as he could.

Ripples of dread permeated the air. He thought he saw something slither at the edge of his vision, but it was far too quick for him to follow. Hectically looking around, Harry's eyes went wide when he felt himself get clammy, and he backed off towards the corner of the room. The books hadn't mentioned _this_. Some kind of parasitic noise began to echo in his mind, while his whole vision started spinning. Harry quivered as _something_ detached itself from the wall above him and flew blindingly fast towards another corner of the room. In terror, he _felt_ all the candles and oil lamps in the room flicker and die. Dozens of assailants clawed against the defences of his mind, like fingernails on a blackboard; it was the icy feeling of panic all animals felt in the gaze of a deadly predator.

'What the...!' For the first time, Aenor's voice laid bare a small amount of trepidation.

Harry raised his wand towards the middle of the room and shouted, ' _Silencio Totalum_! _Reducto_!'

He had originally hoped to be able to hold on for ten seconds, but it had barely been four, and he could feel his hold slipping fast. _Damn it! All or nothing now._

Channeling all his remaining willpower and ignoring the white dots obscuring his vision, he raised his shaking hand once more. ' _Oppugno_!'

Immediately, his eyes drooped, but he thought he felt an alien explosion of pure magic, laced with rage as well as-incomprehensibly-happiness and amazement before his mind was submerged into enveloping darkness of a different sort...

 _~BLHD~_

As Harry came to, his first impression was that, for some reason, his face hurt – a lot. He opened his eyelids just in time to see Aenor slap him again.

He recoiled and tried to move away. 'Hey, stop that! Merlin, that really hurts, woman.'

'So good to see you up and about again, Harry. I never estimated you to be so rash, you know. But for whatever reason, the hitherto cool and collected Harry Black just made a very good attempt to end the duel with a suicide move.' Aenor's voice was soft, but the scolding seemed earnest. 'What would you have done if that move of yours had really managed to overwhelm me? Poisoning yourself with a desperate last-ditch attempt practically _screams_ Gryffindor, you know?' She threateningly raised her hand again and glowered. 'Do not ever do that again, do you understand me? Especially not in a mock duel, you stupid brat! Swear to me right now!'

Harry threw his hands before his face, but couldn't help agreeing with her on the inside. He had indeed acted very much out of character. He'd never have imagined that his drive to win the bet would push him so much. Harry also vaguely remembered his wand agreeing with his assessment, whereas right now it only hummed innocently in his hand, spreading the welcome and familiar warmth that he loved so much throughout his body. He nodded towards Aenor.

She slowly shook her head and sat down not too far from him. Now that his vision had completely cleared up again, he could see that her clothes were in tatters. He couldn't spot even a trace of red, but she did look distinctly dishevelled.

Suddenly, Aenor exploded in laughter, as if the serious warning from before was all but a distant memory. It was _that laugh_ , the annoying one that somehow urged him to go along with her, Harry noticed.

'I never would have believed you would sic _Lethifolds_ on me! Nor would I have thought it possible, to be completely honest. Your strange Darkness Charm must have enable them to survive here for a few moments, I assume? Trying to silence the area around me also kind of gave me the impression that you were earnestly trying to kill me, you know? It's difficult enough to anticipate their attacks in complete darkness, but I confess I was a bit annoyed with you when I suddenly felt a whole pack of them mere inches all around me.' She turned towards him and impishly asked, 'Do you so badly wish to make this world a less beautiful place, Harry?'

Harry felt his face grow hot. Aenor's robes were quite damaged and revealed a _lot_ more than he was comfortable with. He quickly averted his gaze.

'I'm so sorry that I cannot take you completely seriously, Aenor. If your _Cutting Curses_ had hit my neck or throat, I would probably have died before you could even have realised what had happened.'

'Don't be like that, Harry. Whining is unbecoming of you. But how did you do it? I've never heard of a spell that can summon Lethifolds. Granted, it would probably not exactly be featured in the _Standard Book of Spells,_ but still. I've read a few books on such matters, you know.'

'How did you get rid of them? I faded relatively quickly after forcing them all towards you, but I don't think you cast a _Patronus_ to make them retreat, did you?'

'How about this?' She stood up and reseated herself directly in front of him. 'I tell you what I did, and you tell me what you did?'

That seemed fair to Harry, so he nodded while trying to pretend that he couldn't see down her décolletage.

'Great! As I'm so much more mature than you, I'll even start. I relatively quickly came to the conclusion that you had either summoned Lethifolds or imitated their aura somehow, as I did have one nasty encounter with them in the past - thanks for reminding me, by the way. I was slightly distracted because I wondered if you yourself would be able to repel them, but I noticed your _Silencing Charm_ , of course, so I assumed you would be fine for the moment. Your _Reducto_ did nothing but delay my attempt to dispel the silencing, which probably was your purpose in hindsight. The moment I felt them behind me, I knew I'd be too late to cast the _Patronus_ , especially against half a pack of them. However, there is a second way to defend against Lethifolds and Dementors, though it is rarely taught, considering its difficulty and relative uselessness in open warfare. If you force your mind into the required state of love, you can try to lash out with your magic. It is not exactly a spell per se, more of a burst of magic enriched with the thoughts and feelings on the surface of your mind. It is also rather restricted in its range. You likely felt it even, if you were still conscious at that point. Imagine it like a reverse attempt at Legilimency. One may, however, only utilise this technique if one has enough natural affinity for these sorts of magics. Your turn, Harry.'

Harry nodded silently. What she'd said had given him something to think about, but he would have to ponder these things at a later point in time.

'I realised you heavily outmatched me in every effort I could likely make. After you practically chopped my knee in two, avoiding you was rendered impossible as well. The darkness I invoked is primarily a means to veil my presence. It's…not something I am at liberty to discuss. The, eh, spell to call in the Lethifolds is a bit of...well, it is part of a rather obscure branch of magic not widely known or appreciated. You were right in assuming that I would likely not have been able to defend myself against a pack of Lethifolds, so I enlaced the summoning with four layers of runes that directed them to attack you as their first target and me as the second. I was not able to replicate the last step of the attack, as it is currently beyond my means. That last step I mentioned is also the nastiest and would likely have been ill-advised to use in training.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Ill-advised in comparison to setting a pack of Lethifolds on your innocent practice partner?'

Harry shrugged. 'The instructions advised the practitioner to lock his victim in a battle for the supremacy of his mind after summoning the Lethifolds. Even if the opponent should prove to be the better Mindmage, the attempt alone would likely render him unable to plunge deep enough into his own consciousness to search for a sufficient memory for the _Patronus_ , therefore making him helpless against the creatures.'

Aenor's eyes shone with excitement. She crept half an inch towards him and readjusted her pose. _Merlin, that women knows how precarious her robes look right now, doesn't she?_

'What kind of nasty books do you read anyway, Black? This is not the kind of stuff an innocent first year should browse in his bed.' She assumed an expression of severe disappointment, and her doleful eyes seemed close to tears. A sudden and irrational impulse to comfort her sprang to his mind, before Harry forced himself to look away. 'So, in summary, Harry: you just attacked your poor Defence against the Dark Arts instructor with a sure-fire method to kill powerful magicals, while surrendering your young mind to the very Dark Arts your innocent and good-willed professor tries to protect you from? I–I really am kind of overwhelmed by this, you know?'

Her voice was so heavily drenched in deep remorse, sorrow and pity that Harry couldn't help but turn his head towards her again – where he saw her sporting a huge smile like the dawn of a thousand suns. She reached out and affectionately tousled his hair.

'That was _awesome_!' Aenor exclaimed excitedly. 'I'm really proud of you, Harry. A surprisingly good showing. I would never have believed that you'd be able to push me like that.'

Harry was dumbstruck and inspected her face very carefully, but she seemed absolutely honest this time. He wasn't sure if he should be happy or sad about that.

'Yep, you are definitely worth every second of my time.' Her radiant smile was so stunningly in contrast to her usual cool that Harry could not help but gape somewhat stupidly at her while she caressed his head. Indeed, he was so perplexed that he didn't even register how close she was.

After several moments Aenor retracted her hand and looked him in the eye. Her own piercing light-blue eyes were still shining with excitement and joy.

'I was also completely in awe that you were able to somewhat ease the injury to your knee. When did you pick that up? For some stupid reason, it's not actually taught at Hogwarts, as far as I know, right?'

He shifted in his seat nervously and contemplated diverting the issue, but Aenor's eyes illuminated his face in such obvious delight that he felt himself unable to put in the effort. 'I observed Madam Pomfrey's work whenever I was forced to submit myself to her ministrations. She, er, also recently agreed to tutor me a bit on these matters after witnessing my affinity for the Healing Art.'

Aenor beamed as if she had found a fancy oyster on the beach which she had later discovered to contain a beautiful treasure of the ocean.

'A very good idea. Pomfrey is easily one of the more proficient masters of her craft I have seen.' Slowly, her exuberance settled down a bit, though she still looked quite fevered indeed.

'There is only one question left, I guess. For a first year you are remarkably potent in the ways of Charms, especially barriers and shields. Your potential for magics of the mind is probably right up there, too, considering most people just succumb to the aura of the Lethifolds; fainting, getting permanently traumatised, or dying altogether if the pack is too numerous, old, powerful or any combination of those.'

Harry's eyes widened with horror. _The book hadn't mentioned that_ at all _!_

'And I have actually never seen a fourteen-year-old heal a wound of a joint, even if you couldn't finish the job,' Aenor continued. 'I am also very pleased that you don't exclude any possible avenue magic might offer you, even if the method in question might be a bit controversial.

'But why do you limit yourself in the selection of your offensive spells? In all our practices so far, you've never used anything but fairly advanced defensive spells in concert with frankly inferior, offensive wand work. You've used nothing more potent than the _Reductor_ _Curse_ or an underwhelming _Stupefy_ all this time. Why is that, Harry?'

Harry finally managed to rein in his eyes and look towards his wand. But he didn't like talking about that specific topic. Though he had come to trust Aenor to a certain extent, her drive and motivation still eluded him. He settled on a half-truth.

'It is a matter of personal preference, I guess. The magics you described come to me easily, while some others don't. I can learn six charms in the time it took me to somewhat master the _Reductor_ _Curse_. In the end, I just thought I could get more of an edge if I heavily specialised in the fields that come to me naturally.'

Aenor seemed satisfied and nodded simply. 'I recently lectured the masses about the strength of wizards before the holidays, and I was even completely serious back then. While I urge you to not rely on a specific _single_ specific field of magic, as every one of them does have its weakness, I do not think you may run into that situation all too often, as Charms, magics of the mind, Runes, Healing Arts and what you refer to as 'the obscure branch of magic many people do not appreciate' cover a wide field of applicability, so you should be more than fine. It is also true that you likely will have an easier time overwhelming all but the most experienced of wizards of witches if you manage to surpass the common knowledge in a given field of magic. Dumbledore, for example, may just be the most gifted master at Transfiguration the magical world has seen in at least four centuries. This in combination with his outstanding skills in other crafts, his brilliant mind and the deep knowledge he hoards makes him a truly powerful wizard. You don't have to master everything, to be the master of them all, Harry.'

Harry smiled a bit. He had always had his doubts about his limitations in certain branches of magic, but Aenor was right, of course. If you were the only person alive to know how to counter your own transfigurations, how much would it really matter that someone else knew more about Charms than you? At least if you had sufficient mastery to defend against common attacks and would be able to analyse more complicated ones.

'Since I revealed a bit more than I was originally comfortable with, would you mind sharing your evaluation of your own powers, Aenor? I always was very curious.'

She smirked at him, but didn't seem annoyed by his lack of subtlety. 'I'm a bit different, I guess. I have no specialisation or whatever you want to call it, and I pride myself in extensive mastery of most known variations of magic. While I may never reach the heights of a dedicated prodigy, I like to think my broad knowledge gives me the edge in most situations. While the Mind Arts are probably my most developed strength, my personal affinities for Transfiguration, the Dark Arts and Charms are at least good enough to comprehend what a true prodigy does, even if only in hindsight, though I may never be able to replicate Dumbledore's wonders, for example. In short, I normally react to my enemy until I figure out his weakness. At least, if I fight an enemy of worth. The worms that roam the streets I'd likely just blast to bloody bits, and be done with it.'

Harry just looked at her, his face expressionless. 'You know, this is not the first time I thought you pretty scary, Aenor.'

She, however, just smiled for her inscrutable reasons. 'Don't worry, Harry. You are _definitely_ not the common rabble I disdain. Otherwise, I would hardly spend my time with you like this, or indulge your curiosity for that matter.' She stood up and casually held out a hand. 'Now get up, Mr Black. Let's get your leg fixed by that sinister house-elf of yours. I really want to take a shower.'

Hesitantly, he took her hand, but she let go immediately after pulling him up. This somehow annoyed him. _She really does make an effort, though._

'Say, you mentioned you had been honest in your advice about the strength of a wizard in that one lesson. Does that mean you usually just tell them some rubbish to pass the time?' He didn't bother hiding the mischievousness and glee he felt.

'You wound me, Harry. But I guess it is true that, in most classes, I just babble a bit about duelling. If I were to speak my mind about certain other matters, I'd probably lose my job as well as my freedom. Not unlike your family, in fact.' Her innocent and slightly flirtatious smirk shone through the room like a torch in the night. Harry wondered, not for the first time, how hard it was to truly listen to her words and not just look at her face.

He sighed and muttered, 'You really are a nasty piece of work, Aenor.'

Her smile grew knowingly, and she gave him a small wink. 'Do not let it worry you, Harry. You're already faring better than most others.'

 _~BLHD~_

Harry sat in a chair close to the fire in the small study. He was very tired, but his mind was still buzzing, trying to process all the information he had received today. Lovingly tracing the fine grain of his wand, he pondered how Aenor's family background was getting even more suspicious by the second. It wasn't as if he didn't reveal just as much to her, but, then again, so much more was publicly known about the Blacks. Any information broker worth his money would've been able to tell her that the Blacks were rumoured to still practice old magic, long forgotten and forbidden.

She seemed neither deterred by this nor surprised. In fact, had it not seemed as if she was particularly pleased today because he had taken an unorthodox approach to their duel?

The whole experience was so weird for Harry. Normally, people would distance themselves from him as soon as they learned of some of the more unpleasant business that took place with the Blacks. Well, unless they are fanatically loyal like Daphne, but Harry had not missed how frightened even she had been when she'd discovered his ward back in September. With Aenor and him, in contrast, it seemed as if they grew ever closer the more they revealed about themselves. He couldn't help but feel grateful for this, as he really liked that part of magic, no matter what he may have told the rest of his family bar Arcturus.

Slowly revolving the lovely wand in his hand, he thought about polishing it again, but, as he had done so only this morning, this seemed a bit excessive, even for him.

'You really do have a connection with your wand, don't you?'

Aenor stood in the doorway. She had evidently just finished her shower and was only wrapped in a flimsy towel that hid her features as much as it outlined them.

'W-Wh-What are you doing, Aenor? Please put on some clothes. I'm sure we, eh, can talk about my wand afterwards.' After a second of thinking that sentence through, he felt shame and embarrassment rise in him. _Of all the stupid things to say..._ Stray drops of water travelled down her neck, and Harry was briefly mesmerised, his eyes jealously following their paths...

Aenor smiled, pretending not to notice his dilemma. 'Oh really, Harry? Do imagine my surprise as I beheld my robes after finishing my shower. I'm sure you can bear this much, if you were _hardened_ enough to not even comment on the, ah, state of my attire after training.'

 _Or maybe she didn't realise after all, damn!_

Aenor simply seated herself elegantly in the armchair directly opposite of him and made no further comment, but Harry still hadn't completely regained his composure and kept glancing at her. She, however, only smirked in return and crossed her legs with agonisingly slow motions. In fascination, Harry followed the deliberate movement of her impossibly long and slender legs...

Eventually, he regained some measure of discretion, shuddered slightly and swiftly fixed his gaze on the fire. _Merlin, this is torture! And I'm not sure if this or the laceration of my mind is more wicked in intent_.

'We were talking about wands, Harry, remember? Before you thoroughly checked me out, I mean.' Her tone was light, and she was very clearly entertained.

Harry grimaced, but hoped conversation might divert his attention from the half-naked epitome of temptation not two yards in front of him. 'Eh, sure. Yeah, I guess I have a very good connection with my wand. It's a bit complicated, though. My grandfather and I were most pleasantly surprised, since we didn't get this one from Ollivander's but from the family vaults.' At this moment, he truly did not care what he told her, as long as he could peacefully stare into the fire and try to forget the semi-stripped beauty that was within arm's reach.

'Oh? That's interesting. Have you had your famous Ollivander inspect it?'

Harry frowned slightly. 'Do you not approve of Ollivander?' It was rather difficult to have a talk with her while trying hard to ignore her appearance. He couldn't read her expression, for starters.

'Oh, it's not that. Well, not exactly, at least. I know him to be extremely competent, but he is too traditional for my personal taste. In matters of intellect, traditions should always be challenged by new ideas. Or vice versa, new ideas should always be compared to what is commonly known. Excellence should be the only measure that counts.'

'So,' he slowly tried to shift his mind into a higher gear, 'you think he doesn't even try to think outside of the box? He merely delves deeper in directions already laid out for him, and that blinds him to possibilities he doesn't think to consider?'

'Yes, something like that, Harry. So what did the old geezer say about your wand? Did you try any others?'

Harry laughed softly, remembering foolishly waving around half the shop's inventory. 'Ah yes, I did indeed. And the only one that had any reaction for me had a rare phoenix core, it seems. My own wand, however, simplified my choice by breaking the other one the second before I could actually touch it.'

She didn't answer for several seconds, and Harry finally shot a swift look towards her. She seemed deep in thought and had casually leaned forward, supporting her head with both of her hands. This posture, however, was a bit too much to endure for Harry, so he snapped his head towards the fire so hard that he felt a severe twinge of pain in his neck.

'What kind core does your wand have, Harry?' Her voice had lost the playful undertone for the moment.

'Eh, it is a bit unusual, so you first if you want to know.' This had been their modus-operandi for these past few days, and it had worked reasonably well so far.

'Oh, fine, if you insist. My wand incorporates the ground bones of a dementor.'

 _Scary how that fits._ Harry wisely chose not to voice these thoughts, though. 'I didn't know they could be used to craft wands. I see what you meant with unusual approaches.'

'They can't usually, so it is indeed extremely unusual, and I'd like you to keep this bit of information to yourself. So what's yours?' she asked inquisitively.

'Well, Ollivander said it was some African Blackwood with the shrunken heart of a sphinx. He was very surprised when he inspected it and could hardly believe that we were so compatible. He himself had trouble producing even three sad sparklers with it.'

'Look at me, Harry!' ordered Aenor's voice, surprisingly insistent all of a sudden.

He hadn't expected her tone to change so drastically and felt himself heeding her wish without conscious thought. Her posture was very straight now, and her eyes seemed aflame with curiosity and something else entirely...

'Is what you just told me true?' Her eyes seemed to bore into his mind, and he reflexively concentrated on his Occlumency...but found no intrusion.

'Er, yes? Ollivander kind of told me not to spread the word. Is it truly such a big deal?' His own voice, in contrast, seemed very meek by now. Apparently this had much more severe implications than he had initially thought.

She observed his expression for a while, before closing her eyes and grimacing. 'You will never tell anybody about this. I'm very serious right now.' She seemed to be trying hard not to succumb to a fit of rage. 'If that Ollivander prick really did only say not to spread the word, then he may actually not have your best interest at heart. Harry, wands made out of sphinxes are rare, as are those creatures themselves. In contrast to phoenixes, however, they are capable of learning new magic in addition to that bit they are born with. You shouldn't consider them beasts, but rather a magical race with a very small and scattered population. Britain's Ministry of Magic would, of course, disagree again, but no sane person on the continent would refute me. As such, the eternal imprisonment of the heart of one of their own may have repercussions for you if it ever were widely known.'

Her words dangled dangerously in the air, and Harry shot a swift look towards the instrument of his magic that he so dearly loved. His wand didn't seem to mind him learning these things as it purred softly again, calming his agitated heart.

'Harry, there are societies that all but _worship_ sphinxes, who also have social structures, same as with goblins, for example. These don't translate to human terms, but that doesn't mean they do not exist. We should have another wand maker have a look at your wand some other time. I...I know of another who maybe would be able to help you learn more about your specific sphinx. I had a comparable issue with my own wand, and he proved most helpful. Deeper understanding in these matters usually leads to greater compatibility in turn.'

She paused for a moment and licked her lips. 'We may have to wait with that for a while though. I don't have any particular reason to distrust you so far, but I'd rather not reveal more than necessary at this point.'

Harry nodded. He felt exactly the same way after all.

'What kind of wood is your wand made of, Aenor? I only had a few short looks at it, but it's an enchanting piece of craftsmanship.'

Before Aenor answered, she showed him her wand that lay innocently in her delicate hands. He studied it more deeply this time and was amazed that there seemed to be small pictures engraved all around the wand.

'It's not wood. It is as it seems, though few people recognise it as authentic ivory.'

Harry chuckled. 'I like how it is so obvious what it is, yet most people may never suspect the truth of it.'

This comment apparently pleased Aenor, as she smiled back at him without any hint of provocation for the first time in a while. After shooting a careful glance towards his own wand (that still did not seem to disagree with his mood), he looked into Aenor's eyes. They, he noticed, were equally studying his own, and he thought he detected a kindred hint of curiosity behind those icy-blue irises that he had once thought cold.

He pulled himself together and braced the question. 'Do you–Do you think I could hold it for a moment? I, ehm, was in fact wondering about other things before you entered, and I, er, find myself somewhat curious if I am compatible with it, even in the least.'

Her eyebrows shot up, and she gave him a long, searching look. After several very long moments, she nodded slowly and extended both of her hands: one with her ivory wand, the other empty. Harry understood and mirrored her gesture. He couldn't help but feel slightly nervous when Aenor slowly moved her hands towards his. As they softly touched, Harry gingerly trundled his own wand down his palm, as the ivory wand gently rolled into his other hand.

The first impression he got was...a bit different, but not exactly worse compared to his own wand. After what felt like a short tussle between his own magic and the wand, the slight feeling of uneasiness vanished, and he began to experience short bursts of prickling magic creeping up his arm. In wonder, he looked at the wand in his hand that seemed to be itching for action, almost infecting him with its tangible longing for battle and reckless displays of power.

He looked at Aenor and found her examining his own wand, deeply in thought herself. Eventually, she looked up, but he spoke first.

'I think the wands have a comparable feel about them, even though they seem to have contrasting personalities, but that may only be my impression. What do you think?' He masked his nervousness and eagerly watched her reaction. She seemed perplexed and studied his own face carefully in return.

'I somehow get what you mean, though I admit I'm completely gobsmacked that you have any reaction to my wand at all. As far as I know, you are only the third person in a few hundred years. Try a charm or something.'

Harry nodded and jabbed the wand towards the fireplace and said, ' _Furvus_ '. Immediately, the fire shone with a strange black light while still illuminating the study. 'It doesn't feel substantially weaker than my own to be honest. The only difference I detect may stem from the additional familiarity I have with my own.'

Aenor turned his sphinx wand towards the fire, gave it a twirl, and the fire abruptly returned to normal.

'Indeed. Curious - I'm still certain this is your wand, but it nevertheless allows me to call upon my magic without hindrance...' Her voice trailed off, and she looked contemplative again.

Harry couldn't resist and lowered his Occlumency a bit. Immediately, his senses began to flood with magic from all directions, though it wasn't nearly as bad as Hogwarts. He channelled his focus on both wands and tried to tune out everything else. They were continuously humming and emitting the strange sounds that Harry associated with 'Wand Talk'. The atmosphere was peaceful though, unlike the usual strife and rivalry that filled the air in class. Both wands seemed expectant and enthused, they're 'conversation' more like song than banter. For some reason, he had the strange impression that he could detect a note of melancholy in their 'voices'.

'This is so weird. I usually hate even letting go of my own wand. Your ivory wand, however, seems to try and calm me down.' He really couldn't help but express his wonderment.

She gave him that look of inquisitiveness again. 'Your connection to magic is as strikingly remarkable as it remains mysterious. I only experience the vague but soothing feeling that this is an extraordinary match for myself, but you seem to be able to read the wands somehow.' She smiled a little as his face tensed. 'Don't fret. I won't ask, I was just commenting.' After a short pause, she sniggered slightly and gave him a strange look. 'Hey, I have an idea. Don't freak out, alright?'

Before Harry had completely understood her intentions, Aenor lifted his wand and said, 'Expelliarmus!'

A fierce scarlet light shot towards Harry, faster than he could even blink. When it hit him straight on his wand arm, however, he only felt a harmless, warm tingling. Nothing else happened.

Aenor was amused. 'Your wand is all but in love with you, Harry. I don't think you should tell Greengrass how...'

She was interrupted when Harry turned her wand towards her and loudly cried, 'Stupefy!'

The crimson beam of magic flew towards Aenor. He had the distinct impression that she intentionally refrained from countering it. The spell hit her in the face, but she only grinned menacingly. 'Hitting a lady in the face? I didn't think you had it in you, Harry. Maybe we should get a bit more serious in our training sessions.'

Harry blanched, instantly assuming an expression fit for the burial of a close relative. 'I – I may just have acted most foolishly. I do sincerely beg your pardon, Lady Rose.'

She burst out laughing and switched their wands again. 'I'm just messing with you, Harry.' She seemed to be in a very good mood, and Harry couldn't help but reciprocate the feeling.

Aenor stood up and stretched, causing Harry to immediately shift his gaze towards his feet. Despite his embarrassment, he couldn't help but feel a growing connection to this most devious witch. He was very certain that his link to the sphinx wand was special. As far as he could theorise, the reason for that may be the personality of the sphinx itself – or something along those lines. The ivory wand somehow had the same feeling of mystique around it, and if he wasn't wrong about his personality theory, then this might mean that he and Aenor were on the same wavelength or something, at least regarding certain traits of personality or maybe preferences in magic.

He didn't pay any attention to his surroundings while he mused on these things. That is, until a lovely countenance of perfection occupied his entire field of vision. He tried to reel back until he remembered that he was currently very much seated. The angelic visage before him smiled kindly and retreated.

'This has been a most diverting evening, Mr Black. Please do excuse my comment, but I'm very pleased to note that you seem to have somewhat overcome your nervous breakdown regarding my outfit.'

Harry only just managed to mumble something about the more serious matters at hand.

Aenor assumed her voice of mock hurt again. 'Why, my prince! You make it sound like my looks aren't worthy of your attention. I cannot deny that you rather hurt my confidence...'

He raised his head to return a jibe, but could only stare in shock as she friskily raised the hem of her precariously short towel ever so slightly.

Harry's mind just shut down, causing Aenor to erupt with laughter again.

'Good to see you're not completely immune to me. Sweet dreams, Harry!'

Still cackling madly, the demon vanished through the door and noisily made her way towards her guest quarters.


	12. HD: Give and take

**Give and take**

* * *

A few days later, Arcturus had finally returned. That was why it had come to pass that their usual silent breakfast was now shared among three people: the Blacks and Aenor. The Hogwarts instructor always tried to discreetly stay in the background when she perceived something to be a matter of family, tradition or custom, and so nobody intruded on the habitual tranquillity of their first meal of the day. What slightly irked Harry, however, was that with each passing day Aenor seemed to sit just a bit closer to him at every opportunity. At first, he hadn't even noticed, but it'd been more than a week since her billeting, and now it was hard not to notice. Even though he explicitly remembered telling her that this wasn't a problem of _taming_ him, he couldn't quite shake the idea out of his head that she thought of him a rather shy squirrel in the park.

The only thing that infuriated him even more than that analogy was that, inexplicably and to his great chagrin, her methods seemed to yield results. He continuously bristled at her course of action, but his defiance only seemed to make it easier for her to approach him in turn. He was becoming quite desperate at how his every effort to resist her in this matter only seemed to further her goals.

This morning, she sat so close to him that he could smell the enticing odour the small blossoms in Aenor's braided hair released, and it really seemed to grate on his nerves; he'd tried his best to get into a bad mood about this whole business but utterly failed. His last hope had been Arcturus. The old man, to his annoyance, had just raised an eyebrow and not too subtly suppressed a grin before he buried himself behind the Prophet. Aenor was seemingly oblivious to his inner conflict, or rather 'his unbudgeable refusal to gracefully accept defeat', as she had previously put it.

Twenty minutes later, his grandfather placed his newspaper on the table in a sign of opening the conversation.

'I hope you have enjoyed your stay at our humble abode so far, Miss Rose?' Arcturus asked politely.

'I'm not too sure about the humble part, sir, but everything was quite perfect. I really must thank you again for your gracious hospitality,' Aenor spoke up, smiling with what Harry now considered 'practised charm'.

Arcturus eased his expression a bit and nodded. 'How did you spend the last few days, then? Please forgive this old man's curiosity, but already I feel you may be more forthcoming than my dear grandson, who is sadly taciturn in most personal matters.'

Aenor smirked a bit. 'We did a lot of training, sir,' she answered respectfully.

Harry prayed she was talking about magic but kept his silence. Maybe he was just getting jumpy.

'Ah, yes. As I must say, the elves have already besieged me with pleas for you to ease your schedule a bit, as they have trouble restoring the room to its neat and proper condition each night. For your sake, I certainly hope your efforts bore some fruit? Besides upsetting my servants and vandalising my house, obviously.' Arcturus gazed at her sternly, and Harry could see Aenor hesitate.

Suddenly, the Head of House Black chuckled softly. 'I am so sorry, Miss Rose. Do forgive this old man his poor attempts at humour. I know you to be an eloquent, cultivated young lady full of confidence, so I couldn't help but worry a bit. I'm very proud of Harry, but it's not hard to pick up on his reluctance to confront the fairer sex.'

Aenor let out a relieved sigh, but returned to her confident smile not too long after that. 'There's no need to pick on me, sir. I assure you, I will not puressure your grandson, nor will I prey upon his weakness in such an unworthy manner.' After a short pause, she added, 'That Cranky elf wouldn't have permitted me to do so in any case. He is...remarkably protective and independent in his actions.'

The old elf in question, who had been hovering alertly behind Harry, gave the slightest of bows to Aenor. 'Cranky thanks Miss Rose. If Miss Rose continues to uphold her current impeccable conduct, Cranky may even consider letting her in on the offer he made to young Master Harry before he went to Hogwarts in September.'

Harry groaned. 'No, Cranky, please! Can we not talk about that right now? She _is_ a guest, you know.'

But Cranky was undeterred. 'Cranky is well aware of that, Master Harry. But as it seems progressively unlikely that Miss Greengrass will take up residence in your bedroom, Cranky will have to be on the lookout for alternate arrangements.'

Harry shrank back into his chair and tried to keep the heat out of his face.

'Oh, really? That seems like an interesting story.' Aenor smiled brightly. Harry could read her well enough now to see the playful malice behind her facade. 'I didn't know your family was conspiring to bring the two of you together, Harry. Maybe I should tell Greengrass about this, I think this will get me in her good books, you know?'

Cranky had obviously felt out of the loop this past week and now tried to repair his loss.

'Oh! Cranky thinks Miss Rose misunderstands. The invitation would originally have extended to any lady-friend Master Harry brought along for the ball. Cranky even volunteered to accommodate all of them by enlarging Master Harry's bed. Not all is lost, however, and Cranky still dares to hope; there may yet be enthusiastic ladies who tire of their company at the ball, after all.'

Aenor's eyes sparkled as she looked with glee at Harry, who was determinedly looking away by now. 'How come this tempting offer hasn't yet been made to me? I feel rather left out, not being considered a possible conquest and all that.'

Harry had slid so far down his in chair that his head was barely visible any more. 'Please make it stop, Grandfather, I beg of you!'

Arcturus, who had so far been trying to keep a straight face, coughed a few times to get Cranky's and Aenor's attention. 'I think that will do for now, you two. I have some family business to discuss with my grandson right now.'

Harry's grandfather turned towards Aenor, his expression apologetic. 'Though I hesitate to ask a guest of the house, would you consider yourself agreeable to lending your assistance to the elves for an hour today, Miss Rose? While they will, of course, take care in preparing everything for the ball, an outsider's perspective on the organisation, decoration and procedure may still prove insightful. You may also have a look at the seating arrangements and improve upon them, if you like.'

Harry rather thought he detected an odd eagerness on Aenor's face at these last words and could only hope she would do nothing too drastic.

'I'd be delighted to contribute, sir. Let me take my leave then. You'll find me in the ballroom, Harry. And don't talk behind my back, please!'

She waved to him and gracefully flounced out of the room.

 _~BLHD~_

'She is certainly energetic, Harry. I admit I am somewhat amazed you can keep up with her.'

Harry grinned a bit sheepishly at that. 'I don't think I can, Grandfather. But she just creates a wake into which I get dragged. It's not bad, though. She is thoughtful, not unkind and not nearly as rash as Daphne, for example.'

Arcturus studied him for a second. 'I'm surprised by your assessment. I thought your invitation to be purely politically motivated, but that seems, at least no longer, to be the case. Or am I wrong?'

Harry shook his head. 'Initially, it was as you said. That may no longer be true, though. She is,' he paused for a while, grasping for a word, '...unusual.'

His grandfather looked interested and spoke in a soft voice, urging him on, 'How so?'

Harry frowned. He hated these kinds of questions, but if his grandfather wanted to know, he would try to answer. 'I have not disclosed much about me or us, not at all. She, er, may have observed me using the Arts of our family in one of our training sessions. We also briefly talked about my wand. But she willingly divulges a lot more about herself and shares much of her own knowledge in return for very obvious questions.' He saw the look of his grandfather and immediately interjected. 'I'm no fool, Grandfather. I am careful, but the truly astonishing thing is that she doesn't hold back in the least. When I asked her about her wand, she told me; when I asked if she has dived into the Dark Arts, she freely admitted it without a second of hesitation. She speaks of her powers and even of her weaknesses. I, eh, well, I admit I rather like having someone to talk about these things with who is at least approximately my own age. Daphne and the others don't understand, and sometimes I get weary of pretending. Especially with Daphne. It kind of hurts, now and then,' Harry admitted, feeling a little remorseful.

His grandfather's expression seemed rather kind now. Not a muscle had moved, yet his eyes, Harry realised, spoke volumes. 'I know what you mean, Harry, and I am glad that you seem to have found someone to confide in, even if only to an extent. You may also have misunderstood my line of questioning; she may not have told you, but it was _I_ who specifically invited her to spend the days leading up to the ball at our manor. You may be able to continue your association with Miss Rose, granted you grow it at a steady pace. We spoke of this, remember?'

Harry nodded. 'Don't worry, I even told her how I would not accept shortcuts in these matters.'

Arcturus seemed satisfied with that. 'Good. I have made up my mind on her character, obviously, otherwise I would hardly have let her stay here. She has her own agenda, but I doubt you failed to pick up on that. She is not unlike you, though; once she is committed to a certain degree, I think you may find her quite loyal to yourself. This is also the reason why I gave her the chance to convince me that it may be prudent to bend our stance on guests a bit in her favour.' Harry shuddered slightly at the sinister edge in Arcturus' voice.

While Arcturus' words confirmed Harry's view of Rose's personality, he couldn't help feeling relieved all the same. His grandfather was _very_ good at judging people, and if he gave his nod of acceptance, Harry felt quite safe.

'There also was the matter of Nott, Grandfather. I'm sure you know more of that than I do, but she never even mentioned him, which-I have to admit-is a refreshing change after these past months.'

'I see. I'm truly sorry about what transpired at Hogwarts. I know we corresponded with each other about this after the incident, but if you ever wish to have another talk, you know you can trust me to lend you an ear anytime, anywhere.'

Smiling kindly, his grandfather went on, 'While we are on the subject, my legal struggles on the matter are finally coming to a close, as well. Your name shall be struck from all records of the matter. The incident is therein from now on only described as an attempt to "implicate another in the most heinous deed of murder", so you may rest assured that there will be no above-ground repercussions from this for you. Of course, sadly, that will not readily improve the situation regarding the slander and hostility, but even that may ebb in time. I leave it up to you to decide whether you wish to take actions regarding that problem or not. Miss Rose may, incidentally, prove to be useful as a neutral bystander. I have several other reasons to possibly entrust her with your supervision, one of which at least I wish to share with you. From your letters and my own sources I managed to get a rather clear picture of your situation at Hogwarts, Harry. About the hostility, the violence and your isolation. I need to know what your thoughts are on these matters.'

The feeling of bliss and carefreeness that Harry had soaked up these past few days vanished like dust in the wind. Arranging his facial expression, Harry sat up straight. 'Well – I think ultimately everything you mentioned, including Nott's murder, are facets of a single problem. Someone obviously tried to implicate me in his murder for reasons that so far elude me. I'm also of the opinion that someone else is instigating the students close to the bigots to keep me from moving freely. In the end, I may have to confront both parties, though I think I shall concentrate on the more pressing matter. While I do enjoy studying the Healing Arts under Madam Pomfrey, I cannot deny that the ongoing attacks have heavily influenced my stay at Hogwarts – in a bad way.'

Arcturus nodded and smiled slightly. 'I am proud of you for making use of the opportunity. Poppy is a truly gifted Healer, and though she stands quite close to Minerva and Dumbledore, she is not as unjustly predisposed to believe all the vile defamations. I also agree with your reasoning. Do solve these problems before the end of the year. I don't need to remind you who joins you next year, do I?'

'No, Grandfather.' Harry sighed, yet his tone was rather fond. 'I will keep them out of trouble as best as I can.'

Arcturus nodded again. 'You need them close to you, Harry. I do not doubt for a moment that we do have real enemies at large at Hogwarts who are likely biding their time and observing you for now. You may continue to protect Daphne and Tracey by isolating yourself, but if you fail to improve your situation, I will intervene. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, Grandfather. I promise I will make every effort. I also promise to reconcile with Daphne as soon as the situation stabilises enough for me to do so. She is family, after all. I will also try to keep Draco close.'

'That would be wise. All is not lost with that boy. He is not his father, not that you shouldn't be cautious still. Then again, I think you already know of this.'

Arcturus relaxed a bit in his chair. 'This leaves only one more topic up for discussion, Harry. I have inspected the memories you entrusted me with. I have also disposed of them. Part of the reason for my absence these past days has to do with what I saw, and in hindsight, I admit to having acted foolishly in the past. This matter should have been brought to my attention when you were seven and we visited Gringotts. At the time, I merely thought you uniquely gifted in grasping the flow of protective enchantments, but now I know better. Please forgive me for this fateful lapse of judgement.'

To Harry's horror, Arcturus bowed his head and looked ready to prostrate himself.

'Please, Grandfather, please raise your head,' Harry spluttered in panic. 'I do not think any harm has been done yet, and thus far only you, Daphne and me have detailed knowledge about this. Cranky does, too, I believe, but I doubt he will present a problem. Aenor does have her suspicions, but so far I have been careful to never slip on the matter around her.'

Arcturus nodded emphatically and explained in a low voice, 'This matter should stay within the family by all means, Harry. In fact, if you suspect anyone gaining knowledge of this, I order you to inform me at once, as I will be forced to act. If Miss Rose should find herself in that unlucky situation, we may be able to force a deal of sorts. However, every other person at Hogwarts not of the family will be treated as collateral. It pains me to make this so clear, Harry, but it will be your responsibility to keep those people from harm.'

Harry's heart sank, but if Arcturus was so adamant about the matter, the implications of his failure were likely as drastic. He averted his gaze and nodded.

'I am truly sorry, my son, but there is no real choice in the matter. You will understand sooner or later. For the time being, I don't think it prudent to impart my entire findings on the matter, but my tentative advice is to strengthen your Occlumency as best as you possibly can, I think you see the wisdom in this. The second thing to keep in the background of your mind would be to use your gift whenever you are alone or with Daphne. If you have the time to do it, try to focus your powers, but I have to warn you, Harry: never let it run loose and only use it while focusing; if you are uncertain that you can succeed, forfeit any practice and continue with your Occlumency exercises. Training in this matter is said to be excruciatingly long-winded and difficult, but I have full confidence that you may eventually master your predicament. Procrastination will not help you either; my research so far indicates that the situation will gradually spiral out of control if you fail to deal with it.' He paused shortly and then added in a warm tone reserved only for his interactions with Harry, 'I am sorry, Grandson. You have been given a great and terrible boon, but you would do best to slowly nourish it. For now, the development of your Occlumency is paramount. Trust me on this.'

Harry felt a bit lost at sea. He had always suspected his gift to be rather special, but to make even Arcturus speak so cryptically with him, it had to be something of dire consequence and imminent danger to him or the family. At least now he had a clear goal and motivation. Until this time, he had always been conflicted about using his power, as it required him to tone down his protections, thus standing in contrast to his grandfather's prior instructions and common sense. If he could just somehow filter what he experienced while still protecting his mind, he could finally see a greater practical use of all this...

He nodded and said, 'I understand, Grandfather, and thank you for your efforts. I promise I shall do my best.'

Arcturus offered the kind of grandfatherly smile that only Harry knew. 'Good. Now why don't you try to find Miss Rose? I'm rather worried she already mimics your mischievous grin, so I fear she may be up to no good.' He laughed softly. 'In the meantime, I'll speak to Cranky and rein him in a bit, if at all possible, that is.'

'Wait – Grandfather!' Harry hesitated, then stood up. Facing Arcturus, he bowed his head. 'I wish to make a formal request concerning matters of House Black as a member of the main family...'

 _~BLHD~_

Even though Harry was in a ponderous mood when he entered the ballroom a bit later, he tried valiantly to dispel any concern from his mien. Aenor sat casually on a table and was speaking animatedly to Cranky, who of which was nodding gleefully.

'So, how goes the messing with the seating arrangement?' Harry's snigger sounded a bit forced to his own ears. 'Hope you made it worth the effort at least.'

'What a curious accusation, Mr Black. I'm not sure why you're of the opinion that I used the position your grandfather appointed me to, in good faith, for nefarious deeds of personal interest.'

Harry waited and raised an eyebrow. Cranky just smiled meaningfully and disapparated.

Aenor shrugged and laughed suddenly. Harry was glad that she was in good spirits, as she would likely prove capable of stopping his musing about grave tidings. Her voice was light and her expression excited. 'I don't want to spoil the surprise, Harry. Let's just say, I prepared to fire the first shot of the evening.'

Though Harry had no idea what she could possibly mean, a vague hunch told him that it would probably spell trouble. _Who would have thought her so childish as to play pranks? Not that I'm complaining..._

It had become completely clear to Harry, in the last week, that Aenor hid behind her mask just as much as he normally did. Since he had dropped his acting instantly on the first evening, she had loosened up more and more. In the end, it turned out that Aenor was not only surprisingly spontaneous, but also pretty amusing; if you could stomach her humour...

'Hey, I'm all finished here, Harry. How about we put you in your place and shed a bit more of your–I mean...train you up a bit?' She asked coquettishly.

 _Yeah, that kind of humour._

 _~BLHD~_

Harry found himself lying flat on the ground for the twelfth time in two hours. Moaning hoarsely, he winced and tried to turn around in an effort to at least look at something more interesting than the patterning of the marble. Grunting in pain, he managed just that, but getting up was beyond him for the moment.

'Finished already, Harry?' Aenor innocently looked down at him, laughing to herself. This time, her robes had not suffered even a single blemish.

'Yeah, I'm done. My body won't move, and I do not think I can muster the will to try anyway. Today was kind of disheartening, you know?'

Sitting down a few paces from him, she looked in his direction, a mysterious smile painted on her face. 'Well, I always sleep best when I'm dead-tired. If you are truly unable to move, then you won't be up all night, thinking about whatever your grandfather told you.'

Harry squinched up his face and mumbled, 'Was I truly that obvious?'

She grinned and gazed down into his eyes. 'Well, you did okay-ish. I would've been able to pick up on your discomfort and wandering mind in any case, but important family talk is rarely of the good sort. I know that well enough.'

Harry did not comment and looked away.

Aenor, however, just laughed again. 'Why all bashful? Oh–no!' Her voice immediately gained a slightly comical quality of shocked disbelief. 'Don't tell me it's that? Well, let me be the first to congratulate you! I wish you and Greengrass all the luck you likely need.'

Harry snapped his head back in her direction. 'What _are_ you talking about?'

'Well, marriage contracts at such an age can be a bit of a shock, of course. But I'm sure the both of you can work it out...'

He just stared, dumbstruck, into her eyes whilst embarrassment and indignation fought a raging battle in his mind – until Aenor broke into uncontrolled laughter.

'Your face looks _bizarre_! Come on, get a grip! This one was so obvious, too. I wouldn't think a marriage contract out of place with the Blacks, to be honest, but after seeing your grandfather dote on you like that, I doubt he'd have the heart.'

Frowning, Harry turned his face away from her to his left and said the first thing on his mind to avert further shame, 'Marriage contracts are sometimes necessary. Before you ask: No! I am not subject to one as far as I am aware, but that doesn't mean that the issue may never arise in the future...'

After a few seconds of silence, Harry felt something tickle his right cheek, and he looked up.

Aenor had bent her head over his, and several silvery-blond strands of hair had fallen onto his face.

In fascination, he beheld how full of life those eyes that always reminded him of cold winter mornings seemed up close...

'Open to suggestions in matters of marriage contracts, are you, Harry?' she spoke kindly and offered a sweet and teasing smile.

He felt his face grow slightly hot, but he just couldn't manage to tear his gaze away. Nor did she move.

After what seemed like an eternity of locked gazes, Harry slowly spoke without averting his eyes, 'I–I thought you promised not to, er, prey upon my weakness, Aenor?'

Her kittenish expression slowly transformed into an even more mesmerising warm and earnest smile. 'And I'm still upholding that promise...' Her voice was soft and strangely stirred.

Harry just stared into her eyes, searching for an answer...

It took him half a minute until he realised that he didn't recoil even though her immaculate face was barely ten inches above his. His eyes grew wide, as did her smile. He still did not feel the need to say anything and continued to bask in the radiance of her smile and those vivid eyes.

Harry soaked in her gaze, wallowing in the bliss of the moment, until–finally–Aenor smoothly pulled away.

'Just in time, Harry,' she said gently, still beaming. 'We will at least have one day to find out how good of a dancer you are and improve upon our performance should the need arise.'

Harry nodded, a blank expression on his face.

She did seem to become slightly flustered by his silence, but her eyes still shone brightly.

'How did I do? Compared to Greengrass or Davis, for example?'

Daphne's name finally broke the spell on Harry's mind. He blinked a few times and assumed a more adequate expression than untarnished befuddlement.

'Eh, both situations were a bit different. I first saw Daphne when...when the cause of my problems was still very fresh on my mind, whereas my contact with Tracey was rather sporadic for a long time.'

She seemed to pout a bit because he would not give her a straight answer. He couldn't tell if she was playing him again, but the strategy was effective all the same.

'In Tracey's case, I estimate it took her about twenty months. Daphne has always been unyielding; about nine weeks back then, I guess...'

Aenor struck a pose as if she had just won the election as supreme ruler of the universe with no dissentient. 'And I win by a landslide! Take that, you damned brats!'

Harry couldn't help but smirk at the laughableness of it all. 'Yeah, I guess you do.'

The woman in front of him was exhilarated, and, like a sponge, Harry soaked up her behaviour, which was completely authentic, not at all repressed for the first time ever; he had really never seen her lose it like that. It took her a while to calm down, but then she finally looked into his eyes again, though from a greater distance this time.

Slowly, her bright smile crumbled. 'It–It never truly stops bothering you though, does it, Harry?'

He grimaced and finally tried to sit up. After a gruesome effort, he replied slowly, 'No. At least not according to my previous experiences. But...but...Ah, never mind!'

'What is it?' Aenor's tone was subdued.

Realising that she most likely felt ashamed of her earlier outburst, he gave in again. 'The, eh, fear, well, it kind of gets counterbalanced by, er, Merlin-I-hate-these-talks, by emotional...investment or strong, dominant and lingering positive impulses.' Despite his outwardly calm demeanour, his heart was pounding hard.

'So,' Aenor's voice seemed a bit upbeat again and he was glad for it, 'you either need to spend more quality time with me or completely drown in the moment?'

'Yeah. Just...you know,' he drew a breath and hastily produced a few words without returning her glances, 'like a few minutes ago. I-I was entirely caught up in the scene and in those kind of situations it is hardly even background noise for me, as long as the per...experience is captivating enough. MERLIN! Can we please, please stop talking about this?!'

He didn't even mind how pathetically whiny the last sentence came out. Harry truly hated these conversations in which he couldn't string two coherent sentences together without stuttering in shame or blushing like a ten-year-old. It was bad enough that Daphne always seemed to get him there.

She walked towards him and dragged him to his feet, smile in place again. 'Alright, I shall withdraw my scandalous advances for the time being. Let's get you sorted out and call it quits for today.'

Harry nervously wriggled in her grip for a second. 'Eh, can I ask you a favour? It's kind of a big deal, though.'

She turned towards him and inclined her head, looking at him curiously. He could see that she was still in high spirits, and a better opportunity would not likely present itself during the next few days.

'What is it?' She asked without hesitation.

'I know it sounds kind of bad. Sweet Morgana, how to say this?!' He paused for a second and forcefully exhaled his hesitation, steeling himself and blunting his feelings in the process. 'I need a vial of your blood.'

Her eyes grew wide with shock, and her petite eyebrows shot further up than Harry would have believed possible. He wasn't exactly surprised either. Blood, especially blood freely given, was a crucial component in many a grizzly spell or even ritual. Even though Harry tried to avoid the really nasty ones when studying these matters, he was very sure that even he would be able to seriously harm her with a full dose of her lifeblood. Other, more advanced students of the Arts probably needed less for even more drastic effects. He _knew_ there were curses and charms that could inflict even whole bloodlines for an indefinite amount of time...

All these spells took time to cast, sometimes months or years of preparation, but there was practically no way to defend against them if you were caught unaware. And blood could be made to last for practically forever. This was the reason he had so little confidence in his request. He remembered his own first lesson only too well, the words of Arcturus still haunting his mind:

 _Do not_ ever _give blood willingly. Do not ever bond with unknown entities._

Arcturus had drilled into him how these lines were likely the only remaining common ground that remained among all the different teachings of what outsiders unwittingly referred to as 'Dark Arts'.

Aenor was still gawking. The hush grew steadily more painful, and Harry deeply regretted ever mentioning this, but Arcturus had been persistent. Lowering his head in shame, resigning himself to the aching pain that consumed his heart, he muttered, 'I'm... I am sorry. Please forget I ever mentioned that.'

He turned to walk away, but found himself being held back. Aenor had grabbed his sleeve and spun him around again. Slowly, she reached into her robes and produced a silver knife and a small crystal vial. Harry watched guiltily as she cut her thumb and let the drops of her blood drip into the small container until it was filled, quickly healing the laceration afterwards.

'Will you tell me what you used it for?' Her voice sounded distant.

'Yes,' he answered simply.

'Will you tell me before you utilise it for whatever purpose you have in mind for it?'

He gulped. 'No.'

She stared into his eyes, and he could once more not force himself to look away, hoping against expectation that she would just comply...

'Harry, you're demented.' But even as she finished speaking, she slowly and deliberately placed the vial into his palm and closed his fingers around it. The instant she let go, she breathed deeply and shut her eyes, as if waiting to be struck down by a sudden bolt of lightning.

In a most uncharacteristic silence, they walked towards the stairs where they would have to part. Harry stopped by the first step, unsure what to say, but positive that _something_ needed to be said. He helplessly cast a look towards Aenor, whose expression was completely hidden by her long hair that, loose from her trademark braids, covered her like a curtain. A few seconds passed until she pushed her mane behind her ears and looked into his face. It took her a while, but finally she managed a smile.

'Let's make the ball a blast, Harry!'


	13. HD: The Black Ball

**The Black Ball**

* * *

'What do you think? I cannot find any more faults here.'

The boy slowly rose to his feet. Moonlight was shining into the small chamber and illuminated the boy in his noble robes of irregularly flowing dark colours. The grey gleam that rushed through the window seemed to softly embrace the frail figure; like a shroud, it clung to his body in an aura of unnerving wrongness. An equally haunting sight was the hundreds upon hundreds of eerily glowing signs and symbols on the floor, scattered about like loose blots of paint on strangely crumpled scraps of parchment. An observant bystander might have noticed that some kind of dark grey script had been scribbled on the wall. A thoroughly paranoid spectator might even have caught it moving ever so slightly. Some kind of intent could be felt seeping through the room. _Something_ was there.

A gust swept along the curtains – maybe...

The boy wagged his head and crept towards the centre of the room where a small scroll of parchment that lay in seven circles of pale red seemed to pulsate in anticipation. His only company was the flickering shadows and the far presence of the satellite that looked down on its wayward fosterling.

 _'Thou shalt embark upon thy endeavour, young one, ere Cynthia expires, as she seems fain to not hinder thee.'_

 _~BLHD~_

Two days later, Harry was harried by two house elves. 'Quick, Master Harry! The guests will be here momentarily. Quick, quick!'

Harry straightened his tie and looked critically into the mirror. He was very pleased with Aenor's choice of attire. The classy elegance with just a hint of understatement was exactly what he personally preferred on these occasions, or any occasion, really. Aenor herself had given her blessings to his dress robes, though she had resolutely refused to parade her own dress in return. Arcturus had chuckled when Harry had complained to him about that and said, 'My wise council? Better get used to it early, Harry.'

The young scion casually made his way to the ballroom, politely thanking the portraits who offered their compliments. Some older guests had already arrived and sat at a few prominent tables with an unobstructed view of the dance floor. He tried to briefly ascertain that there was nobody present who required his immediate attention and welcome. Nodding to the few witches and wizards who noticed him, he identified the guests and started sorting them in the order they would command his salutations. Just as he had made his way to start with Madam Marchbanks, he doubled back. Sitting beside the ancient woman, besieged by her elders and clearly uncomfortable for it, sat a vastly overstrained Tracey. She seemed to feel his gaze, as her eyes sought his and grew wide with a plea for rescue. Immediately, she tried to excuse herself for a few moments, sporting a smile that was extremely painful to witness. Before Harry could look for someone to engage in a deep conversation, the short witch had already sprinted across half the room and arrived before him, displeasure oozing off her.

'Harry, what the hell is wrong with the seating arrangements? Have I done something to Arcturus to deserve this? All the guests at my table are at least a hundred years old! I've already had to suffer through dozens of stories about how life was so much better way back in the olden days, or how the Galleon will soon be worth less than dragon dung and all that rubbish. And I've been here hardly ten minutes!'

Harry tried to keep a neutral expression and asked politely, 'Is your date also sitting there? Who is accompanying you, by the way?'

'That's just it! Some complete arse seated Daphne with Draco and the rest, but I alone get to sit with the hags. This better be some kind of joke...'

Now it was Harry's turn to frown. 'What? You invited Daphne? But – but she's a girl! How come you get away with that?'

Tracey smirked. 'Oh, Black. I'm just the silly little girl, nobody even bothers me with these things any more.'

He scowled in annoyance, thinking he could've had some much easier days. Well – in the end, it maybe wasn't so bad, but this was a matter of principle. 'Come on, Tracey! How is this fair?'

'It's your own fault, Harry!' she answered complacently. 'You always get so serious about the whole family stuff, so nobody would buy into that anyway.'

'Damn! What about the others? Did they get real dates?'

Tracey sniggered. 'Well, two guys would either be considered gay or losers, your pick. With young and respectable ladies, it's just cute,' she proclaimed with dignity and proceeded to ruin it by sticking out her tongue. 'Draco went with Amy. The others won't come, probably.'

Harry blinked incredulously. 'Draco asked Amy out? Have I missed something?'

Tracey laughed mirthfully in response. 'I think Amy threatened to burn off his eyebrows if he didn't ask her, so I think it's still the same old business.'

Harry shook his head while looking at a new pack of arriving guests, until he spotted someone he hadn't expected. Quickly, he returned his attention to the petite witch at his side. 'Tracey, is that Fawley? What's she doing here?'

Tracey followed his gaze and gave a nod. 'Yeah, those are the Fawleys. I think they're here at the pleasure of Madam Greengrass. I gather they're sisters.'

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. 'The Fawley at school is Daphne's second cousin? How do you know?'

'There is a younger Fawley squaller, too. I think he's due to start school next year or something. Daphne showed me her family tree.'

Harry nearly dropped the drink he had just accepted from a house-elf.

'She did what?' he spluttered loudly.

'Yup – the whole thing.' Tracey grinned rather guiltily.

Harry looked at her sharply. 'Please make sure she does nothing stupid like that ever again, Davis.'

'Don't worry, Black. I intend to keep Daphy safe and ignorant. Those things really suit her best.' She paused for a bit before she added, 'While we're on the subject, who are you attending with? We've been trying to guess, but we all know that you normally don't keep the company of women who aren't your family.'

Harry kept his silence. He closed his eyes and smiled like a man preparing to open a '45 Mouton-Rothschild.

'So?' Tracey prodded in tangible curiosity. 'Who is it?'

'That would be me, Miss Davis.'

Aenor had silently floated near them. Harry turned his head and had to exercise all his mental discipline to keep his chin from dropping. Aenor was wearing a stunningly-cut long dress that clung tightly to her enchanting body and was sure to make many women weep and men drool after her. Her hair was set in elaborate braids that were adorned with small bands and ornaments, resulting in her outfit radiating a medieval glamour that forcefully reminded Harry of religious portrayals of angels. Rose's entire presence seemed to illuminate the space around her, and Harry couldn't help but admire her flawless skin, her picturesque features...her phenomenal eyes. He had regarded her daily appearance strikingly fair and lovely, but now he had to admit that she probably didn't even try any other day. If someone ever needed an effigy to personify beauty, grace and temptation, Harry was sure he would find her outmatching his expectations...

Tracey had evidently failed to overcome her surprise, considering that she had been reduced to staring incredulously at Aenor. After a while, she turned her head to Harry and then again back to Aenor. 'No! No, absolutely not possible. I refuse to believe this!'

Aenor seemed to enjoy Tracey's looks of complete shock and incredulity at least as much as Harry. She made a great show of walking up to Harry and giving him a much exaggerated, intimate hug that left Harry flustered and his cheeks subtly flushed. Aenor then proceeded to stand right next to him, rather closer than necessary, beaming at Harry, before eventually turning a predatory grin towards Tracey.

'A very good evening to you, Miss Davis. I hope you're enjoying yourself so far?' She quickly gestured to a nearby house elf, who turned out to be Kreacher.

The elf bowed low and asked, 'How can Kreacher be of assistance to Miss Rose?'

'I would like two glasses of the _good_ Champagne and...' her voice trailed off a bit. 'Oh yes! And one hot chocolate with cream for Miss Davis.'

While Tracey obviously registered the taunting remark, she continued to stare at the non-existent gap between Harry and Aenor.

'Wha...But! How? What kind of joke is this?' she demanded, stomping her foot angrily.

Harry tried not to laugh and said politely, 'What seems to be the problem, Tracey? You yourself said that only a young lady could get away with having someone of the same sex accompanying her.'

Aenor caught on scarily quick. 'Oh – Miss Davis! That is just so _dinky_. I'm really glad you act your height-I mean age.'

Tracey looked as if she'd been slapped, yet at the same time she seemed incapable of retaliating.

Aenor pounced viciously on her weakness, all the while smiling sweetly. 'Pardon me, but look - here's your hot chocolate! Now, be careful not to burn yourself, poppet.' Still smiling charmingly, she handed a bewildered Tracey her drink.

Tracey, on the other hand, was livid, and Harry could (to his immense satisfaction) not remember her ever failing to come back from a taunt for so long. Grumpily, she took her hot beverage, trying hard not to show how much she actually liked the choice Aenor had made for her.

'Please do excuse us, Miss Davis. I wish to truly enjoy the evening with my _date,_ and I think we should take the opportunity to enjoy some _private moments_ now before the rest of the guests arrive and interrupt our _rendezvous_. We might see each other on the dance floor later, but please do enjoy the _polite conversation_ at your table until then.'

Aenor linked arms with him, made a polite little bow towards Tracey and steered Harry towards a quiet corner of the room where they could converse without being overheard. Once they were out of earshot, Harry turned towards her, his face alight with exhilaration. 'That was so _awesome_ , Aenor! Much better than I had hoped, even!'

She grinned back at him and took a sip from her glass. 'Thanks! But I did enjoy it myself. Davis has been getting on my nerves a bit with her constant jeering in class.' Very deliberately, she put the glass on a nearby table, took a few graceful steps back and twirled once for him.

'So? How do I look, Harry?' she asked, posing teasingly.

'Eh...' Harry gestured wildly, fumbling for words. After a while his uneasiness grew, but Aenor looked expectant, and so he gulped, muttering as quietly as possible, 'Stupefyingly amazing, to be honest.'

She awarded his efforts with a radiant smile. 'Thanks! You look very regal yourself, if you will permit me to comment. Oh! And you don't have to drink that, by the way. I'm not sure if your grandfather would approve, and it really was just another thing to mess with Davis.'

 _~BLHD~_

Daphne was having trouble controlling her temper, cross that, she was having trouble restraining herself from tossing chairs and tables across the room, and her obvious desire to explode had already caused Draco to flee the scene. Tracey had tried to calm her down, though it was obvious that she was taking it no better, even if her reasons might have been different. In contrast, Amy sat contentedly at their table experiencing more or less subdued fits of laughter, apparently having the time of her life.

Daphne continued to tap the polished wooden table and shot a dark glance towards Rose, clicking her tongue to vent her displeasure. 'What's with all the baubles and hairbands anyway? She looks just like a "Merry Christmas Tree" I once saw in an old Muggle-studies book.'

'Don't be like that! I hear they're quite fashionable for pure-bloods of higher standing in certain parts of Europe. But look, they're dancing again! That must be like the fifteenth time or something,' countered the youngest witch. She was playing with her curly black hair while enjoying the pained looks that passed between her friends' faces.

'Seventeenth,' muttered Tracey darkly.

Daphne couldn't restrain herself, and her temper got the better of her again. 'Do they really have to dance so closely? However he got over his problem with that quean is a mystery to me, but does she have to parade it like that?'

'What I want to know,' interjected Tracey, 'is what that silly sciolist is here for in the first place. Look how everyone thinks her so cultured! Harry and Arcturus have already introduced her to at least half a dozen individuals of quality and they were all _so enthralled_. It's disgusting!'

Amy couldn't contain her laughter any more. 'Silly sciolist? Not bad, Tracey!' Chuckling in a mocking tone, she continued, 'But look closely at Harry! I don't think he really minds her company,' she paused delicately, 'or her attire.'

Daphne reined in her immediate desire to throttle Amy and settled for a very menacing look. Amy, schadenfreude incarnate, merely smiled heartily in return.

To Daphne's great relief, though, Tracey had not yet finished her rant. 'How did that bitch get me to sit with the old hags? Before you guys came, she explicitly wished me fun at my table. Why would the elves refuse to serve me anywhere else? She must have set it up!'

Tracey's eyes narrowed, before eventually widening again comically. 'Oh damn! This must be because of my talk with Harry.'

Amy's expression changed subtly, Daphne noted with vague worry. Yet she couldn't help herself from rounding on Tracey, too. 'What?' she demanded hotly. 'What did you talk to him about? How come he would talk to you, anyway? You told me he ignored you as much as me! Tracey...?'

Tracey jerked her hand to her mouth and sighed softly. 'Damn. Uh, it was just that one time, Daphne. I kind of ambushed him to have a few words. It was about the ball and how he should pick a real date. I was just relaying a message, but now I guess I know what that was about.'

She imperceptibly indicated a location. Amy and Daphne cast a careful look and soon spotted Lady Longbottom. Amy glowered, but Daphne couldn't help lowering her eyes and averting her gaze.

'Tracey, what does this have to do with Rose?'

Her best friend slumped down on the table, her voice mournful. 'Sorry, Sweetie. I think I might have upset Harry a bit; what with...pointing my wand at him and stealing his and such. So I, uh, think part of his reasoning to have Rose as his date may just have been to spite me.'

'Date, please! Don't you start with that nonsense as well. Escort, more like!' Daphne spat. She felt slightly ashamed, but not being able to completely vent her wrath only made it so much worse.

Amy sniggered gleefully. 'Escort? You make it sound so _dirty_.'

Tracey lay her hand soothingly on Daphne's shoulder. 'Please! She's still a teacher, no matter how lousy she may be. It's ludicrous to assume anything indecent.'

Daphne immediately jumped on the subject. 'Yes, she _is_ a teacher. And really old, to boot. She's like at least a dozen years older than him, I bet.'

'She's just gotten twenty. I heard some guys at another table talk about it,' supplied Amy helpfully.

Daphne shook her head in denial. 'Not happening. It's got to be really awkward for the both of them due to the age gap. And it's not like they can act all friendly at school. Bet she's just trying to cosy up to the Blacks.'

Amy leered knowingly before assuming a dreamy look. 'Oh, Daphne! I think they're about to start dancing tango. You shouldn't miss this, some of those moves are quite daring.'

 _~BLHD~_

Daphne was still sitting in exactly the same spot some four hours later. The official part of the ball had long since ended, and quite a few people, the Lestranges and Malfoys among them, had already left and so had Daphne's anger – only a heart-breaking ache remained. Even though she had made several attempts, Harry continued to completely ignore her presence while greatly enjoying himself with _that woman_. Tracey had tried her best, naturally, but her efforts were completely in vain as every time there was even the prospect of recovery, _that woman_ intentionally steered Harry through her field of vision. Daphne had known that Harry had gone through every formal training imaginable, but she'd never seen him _enjoy_ dancing like this.

She sighed deeply.

By now, the general atmosphere was very mild, and the earlier enthusiasm of the younger crowd was replaced by scattered people enjoying pleasant conversation. Several guests had even joined her table; some to cheer her up, others because they knew they wouldn't be disturbed.

'Are you sure we shouldn't at least greet Arcturus, mam?'

'Yes, dear. I want nothing to do with the man, I've told you. I _have_ given my compliments to Harry, and we've shared a good chat. That will do for me.'

'I'm surprised you managed to wrestle him from his date this evening.'

Daphne listened while grinding her teeth. Tracey rubbed her back compassionately.

'I mean, look at how much they are dancing. They must have shared more dances together than half the room in total.'

'Well, she _is_ a very beautiful girl, Nymphadora. I'm not surprised Harry is smitten,' responded Andromeda.

Daphne, meanwhile, tried very hard not to bang her head on the table. She couldn't help listening, but every word was like acid.

'Yeah,' the girl agreed, laughing in a wild manner. 'Did you see all the guys lusting after her? She's rebuffed the lot of them, though. Only danced with Arcturus and Harry, I think.'

'I know you don't really care for these things, dear, but have you taken note of her jewellery?'

The younger witch paused a second before she said, without any gusto, 'Isn't that just obsidian or something? A bit on the cheap side for the companion of Harry, no?'

Andromeda laughed softly and flicked the forehead of her daughter in good spirit. 'Those, love, are black diamonds. Notice how Harry's cuff buttons are a matching pair.'

Daphne jerked her head around to ascertain this for herself. Her heart fell another mile as she found it to be quite true...possibly.

'What? Black diamonds? Come off it, mam! Those would be worth half a kingdom if they were real.' Nymphadora seemed to be dismissive, yet Daphne was not so certain. Merlin knew the Blacks could afford them should Harry ever want some.

'I wager they are, my dear. And I doubt very much if a young witch from abroad without any connections could really afford such luxury on her own.'

'What? You mean the Blacks gave them to her? Why would Harry do that? Or Arcturus?'

'If they indeed were a gift, my dear daughter,' Andromeda slowly stood up and smiled knowingly, 'then there would only be one occasion worthy of them. But this'll do for gossip this evening. Let us excuse ourselves from Harry and be on our way.'

Nymphadora knocked her chair over in shock. 'What? A present for their betrothal? NO WAY TH..!'

She had half screamed those last words until her mother had mercifully put her hand on her daughter's mouth. 'Shush, dear. We cannot be certain, so let's keep it to ourselves.'

And off they went, only to leave a thoroughly devastated Daphne behind. To her, it seemed as if her world had come crashing down those last few minutes. In horror, she turned towards Tracey, fighting back hot tears. The other witch had obviously listened in as well and hastily patted her hands.

'Listen, Daphy! There's no way that is true. Arcturus would never draft a marriage contract for Harry. You know how much he adores him. Those contracts are a thing of the past, Sweetie.'

Daphne, however, couldn't fight back the tears anymore. Forcing down a sob, she stuttered, 'You don't know that for c-certain. Th-That contract could be really old, and _that woman_ could have returned to Britain to fulfil it...'

'Come on, Sweetie. Don't let a bit of chit-chat get to you like that.'

Daphne hiccuped in misery. To her, it all made sense. It was like gears suddenly shifting into place, and with a burst of dolour, she remembered the words of her grandmother. 'T-Tracey, my gran recently mentioned something about a marriage contract.'

Tracey's eyes widened, and she gulped down at least three litres of air. 'But she didn't mention Harry, did she?'

Daphne broke down on at the table, all energy having truly left her. 'No. But who else could she have been talking about? I wasn't supposed to listen, but I caught a few fragments of a talk through the Floo. E-Even if it wasn't about Harry, that would only mean that she's found aa match for me or Astoria, doesn't it? And it can't be Harry either, obviously.' She pressed her face onto the table in an effort to vanish from the world. 'This is the worst ball ever; I wish I hadn't come...'

As if fate itself was trying to mock her, the current position of her head left her with a clear view of Harry's and _that woman's_ deep embrace. Harry obviously intended to get some rest, as the evening had grown very late. Even though her heart felt like it was being stabbed repeatedly, she couldn't muster the effort to turn away as the bitch made a joke and gave Harry a lingering kiss on the cheek.

All of a sudden, Tracey's voice pierced Daphne's self-inflicted world of pain. 'Right. I'm going to talk to her.'

Daphne violently yanked her head around. Unfortunately, that meant she bumped her nose pretty sharply on the table. 'Ow! W-What do you mean? You don't mean _her_?'

Her best friend had her hands on her hips and looked ready to explode. 'That's exactly who I mean! You stay here, and I'll get some answers. See you in a bit.' Daphne watched incredulously as Tracey managed, despite her petite figure, to storm towards the exit where Harry and _that woman_ had just disappeared in a very respectable imitation of a ferocious stampede.

 _What are you doing, Daphne. Are you really some kind of damsel who breaks down every time something happens with Harry?_

Something squirmed uncomfortably in her stomach.

 _Are you going to let Tracey handle all of your problems now?_

The really hard part about arguing with yourself was that your opponent knew more than was good for you either way.

 _Wasn't it enough that Tracey and even Harry had to console you at school? Is this really how you envision your future, Greengrass?_

Slowly, like a puppet on strings, she rose from her chair. It took her a lot of effort, and she was terrified about what she may overhear, but she made to follow the unlikeliest pair of witches ever to hold a peaceful conversation.

She didn't have to go far; as soon as she was out of the ballroom, she heard Trace's shrill voice resounding from just beyond the first landing.

Carefully, she crept closer. She'd been at this manor often enough to know which steps it was better to avoid. A bit of unladylike sneaking later, she spotted both of them: They were in the small corridor that led to the guest quarters, as Daphne knew. She edged as close as she dared... For a fleeting second her heart stopped–she was sure _that woman's_ eyes had shot towards her-but two seconds later it seemed to Daphne she was merely casting her eyes anywhere but at the small ball of fury in front of her.

'Is there any point to this, Miss Davis? It has gotten rather late; are you sure you're allowed to be out this long?' Rose's voice was dawdling, and it could not have been plainer that she didn't consider the small witch worthy of her time.

'What kind of game are you playing, _Professor_?' Daphne had never heard Tracey put so much contempt into a single world.

'Whatever are you referring to, Miss Davis?' her teacher returned calmly, still not looking at Daphne's best friend.

'Harry! Why do you try to ensnare him in such a transparent manner? What do you want from the Blacks?' Tracey had taken another half step forward, fists clenched. Her pose was quite aggressive.

Rose shrugged disinterestedly, examining her fingernails. 'And I really need to tell you, do I? Harry is bright enough not to do anything stupid just because we're gallivanting a bit. Anyway, what's it to you?'

'I'm a friend of Harry's, and I've known him longer than you can imagine. And my friends have known him even longer still. I'm only doing what's right here: stopping him from falling for some vixen!'

Rose laughed at that. 'I see, Miss Davis. You are just doing what's best for your friends, is that it?'

Tracey just glowered as she flexed her fingers. 'Yes, that's about it. More than you can say, no doubt. Got any real friends at all, Miss Mysterious?'

That woman's smile grew raptorial as she finally looked up, and Daphne didn't like that look _at all_. Suddenly, her enticing appearance appeared to be nothing but a deadly trap ready to be sprung.

'No need to get personal, Miss Davis. I know you to be a young lady of integrity.'

Tracey seemed to have trouble keeping up with this sudden change in tone and did not interrupt.

'After all,' Rose smirked sardonically, 'you've kept that interesting little story from your best friend, haven't you? How Harry isolates himself to protect you both among others. It is so touching to behold how diligently you try to balance the varying interests of all your friends, while in truth you hurt them all...'

 _Harry is trying to protect me?_

Daphne's mind blanked out...

She must have stood there for quite some time, trying to loosen the knots her thoughts had created, because-all of a sudden-Tracey bumped into her. Daphne looked at her best friend, who, in turn, was obviously just as shocked to run into her.

'Daphne! H-How much did you hear?' She sounded very regretful, almost frightened.

Daphne sneered minatorially and shot her a look that promised retribution if she would not go along with her for now. 'You've got some guts, keeping that from me! You will stay right here and not move an inch until I return!'

Tracey threw a miserable and resigned look towards her shoes. 'Where are you going?' she asked meekly.

Daphne took a determined step towards the stairs and kept her answer simple. 'To Harry.'

 _~BLHD~_

She strode along the corridor, wandering to what she knew to be Harry's bedroom. Her heart was beating so fast it was a wonder nobody had heard her yet. She was truly unsure what she would say to him. She wanted to scream and rage...to give him solace...and confess how very sorry she was. What kind of friend doesn't notice these things? In hindsight, everything was glaringly obvious. Their talk back in the empty storeroom had been so personal and intimate, how ludicrous and flimsy her only real attempt to get him to talk now seemed. Feeling the shame creeping up in her, she vigorously shook her head and redoubled her pace. _No use thinking about that now, Daphne._

She half expected that old overprotective elf to turn up, but-to her great delight-he didn't obstruct her when she entered the wing that held the master bedrooms. Before she'd gathered herself, her steps had taken her to the last door sills of the floor. It now dawned on Daphne that what she wanted most of all was to return to those blissful times of childish games that had only lasted a single day at Hogwarts. Angrily rubbing her eyes, she swallowed hard and slowly turned the door handle. Carefully, she peeked through the gap.

Soft light shone from the window onto the precious furniture in the big room. A huge trunk stood next to a kingly desk upon which dozens of books were stacked in slightly worrying towers. She could hear no sound, so she pushed the door open. In the middle of the room stood a bed. For some strange reason, Daphne thought it was quite a bit larger than she remembered. On the middle of the bed, still in his dress robes, lay the small and huddled figure of Harry.

Daphne took a tentative step forward, but Harry didn't react. He looked so diminutive and frail, it was impossible to link this unimposing person resting on the covers to the confident and aloof scion of House Black who'd shaken hands with at least a hundred guests that evening.

She tiptoed closer and finally stood directly beside the bed. Harry had rolled into a ball and seemed forlorn on the huge bed. _How defenceless he is..._

As if daring herself, she gently brushed a loose strand of hair out of his face, but still he didn't stir. She couldn't believe that this vulnerable boy, who had to work hard to not panic around half of Hogwarts' population, had tried to shelter her from the harm and hate he himself endured on a daily basis.

Daphne felt her anger dissolve. Its place was taken by a burning determination she hadn't felt since Granger had decided to cheat at the game.

Bowing her head, she felt a strange, powerful tickling seeping through her bones as she slowly advanced. The only thing that could have made this any better would have been the sight of his intoxicating eyes, but then again, she doubted she would've had the nerve if he'd been awake. She moved closer, inch by inch. Nervousness numbed her mind, and only Harry's face managed to permeate the nebulous blankness numbing her thoughts.

 _I won't let you take a lonely stand, Harry._

Daphne closed her own eyes, hesitated for a moment, and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.


	14. HD: Interlude I: Girl talk

**Interlude I: Girl talk**

* * *

Daphne silently closed the door, taking a few stumbling steps, before she leaned against the wall to calm her racing heart.

 _What now, Daphne?_

All of a sudden, she stood stock-still. Tracey! Tracey had known. And she hadn't _told_ her. Even if Harry had urged her best friend to keep it to herself, it somewhat hurt to know that she had been deceived by the pair of them. Sighing, Daphne realised she would forgive Harry any day (not that he would ever be told, of course). Tracey, by contrast, would have to atone, and she could start right now by filling her in _completely_.

Daphne straightened her robes. A new wave of annoyance washed over her as she realised that she hadn't even gotten Harry to comment on them. And it had taken _hours_ to get ready…

Taking a few determined steps, she halted again to take off her shoes.

 _Doesn't matter any more, I guess._

Breathing in deeply with relief, she allowed her face to reveal a smile as she strode barefoot around the corner–only to crash into something small and lumpy.

'What the…!' Daphne just managed to stop there, but her verbal restraint sadly did not prevent her from going arse over tit.

Rubbing her back, she struggled to her feet...and looked down to see none other than Cranky. To her great surprise, that strange old house-elf looked up at her with an air of extreme disappointment.

'Has Miss Greengrass already finished her business with Master Harry?'

 _I repeat myself, but what the actual fuck?_

'Uhm...yes?' she answered carefully and in a subdued voice, unsure of where this was going.

The old elf sagged a bit more, shaking his head in a theatrical display of sorrow.

'Cranky has failed Master Harry. Oh, Cranky is so sorry!' He cried out pleadingly. After a while, he looked up again, sniffed his nose and eyed her shrewdly. 'Maybe next year! Cranky shall speak with Master Arcturus at once. There simply must be another ball next year.'

With the faintest of pops, the elf was gone.

 _Merlin! That was strange._

Shaking her head, Daphne doubled her pace and approached the old staircase. Skipping every other step, she merrily made her way to the second floor. A few steps before she could be seen from the landing below, she steadied herself, removed all traces of the relief that was still welling up inside of her from her face and gracefully strut the rest of the way, loftily stroking the old wooden handrail as she continued her descent.

Tracey still stood exactly where she had left her. Daphne shot her an imperious glare and was pleased to see her friend wince slightly.

'We will talk. Now!' Daphne announced coldly.

The small witch dropped her head and sighed. 'Where?'

Daphne shrugged. 'Minnie!'

One loud crack later, and the small female elf was standing before her with her eyes wide open.

'Yes, Miss Greengrass?'

Daphne's expression softened a touch. Kreacher was boring, and as for Cranky, well, he was so strange that several new words and possibly some languages would have to be invented along the way to accurately describe him. Minnie, however, had always been very sweet to her when she had visited one of the Black estates in her childhood.

'How did you do that, Daphne?' asked Tracey, her voice full of surprise.

'Arcturus told me the elves are supposed to respond to their guests' wishes tonight. Isn't that right, Minnie?'

The elf nodded happily. 'Minnie is so glad to be able to serve the kind Miss Greengrass tonight.' A few seconds later she raised her hands to her face and added in shock, bowing profusely to Tracey. 'And Miss Davis! Minnie is hoping Miss Davis has been enjoying the ball tonight?'

Tracey seemed abashed and shuffled her feet. 'It was grand, Minnie. Grand.'

The elf seemed relieved nevertheless and resumed gazing up at Daphne again. 'Miss Greengrass called Minnie?'

'Oh, yes, of course. Could we perhaps have the library or the small study for an hour or so? We need to have a private talk.'

'Minnie is needing to check on that, Miss Greengrass. Minnie has been expressly forbidden to let guests beyond the guest quarters tonight.'

With another thundering crack, the small creature left.

 _Strange. I just visited the third floor, didn't I?_

Not a moment later, Minnie apparated back and bowed again.

'Master Arcturus is sending his regards. Most private rooms on the second floor are already occupied, but the Evening Lounge is still free.' She looked questioningly between Tracey and Daphne and asked hopefully, 'If that would do...?'

Daphne smiled. 'Perfect, Minnie. I know the way, but could you please send us some small snacks? And some butterbeer for me?'

The house-elf nodded happily. 'Everything will be ready when Miss Greengrass and Miss Davis enter. Is Miss Davis wishing for something to drink as well?'

Before Tracey could open her mouth, Daphne interjected coldly, 'Some plain water for Tracey will do.'

Tracey gulped, as Minnie vanished before her.

Daphne took her best friend by the sleeve and dragged her through the corridors until she opened an inconspicuous door to her left. The room was bright and spacious, mostly due to the panorama window which had been charmed to always display spectacular sundowns. Daphne remembered how she'd laughed herself silly when she had entered this room for the first time, as the romantic image seemed horribly out of place in comparison to the grand yet austere atmosphere of the house. The armchairs were of a soft beige and stood around a sublime piece of art that served as a table. The whole thing was made up of a polished sheet of glass covering a beautiful giant druse, housing thousands of smaller crystals that spectacularly reflected the unobtrusive light from the window, showering the room in warm reflections of broken light.

Daphne sat down and grabbed a butterbeer from the tray on the table, gesturing for Tracey to take a seat opposite her. But the small witch had not moved from the door yet and looked from the table to the window, unable to cope with the drastic change in scenery.

Daphne couldn't help but snigger. 'It is a bit of a shocker, isn't it? Especially compared to all the dark wood in the house.'

Tracey simply nodded and took her allotted seat. Daphne's smile faltered the moment she remembered the reason behind all of this. 'Start talking, Tracey.'

Tracey shrunk visibly, looking apologetically up at her. 'I don't know everything myself, and I don't even know how much you know… Please be a bit more specific, Daphne.'

Trying to calm herself, Daphne narrowed her eyes dangerously. 'If you so much as lie about the weather tonight, I'll ask Professor Snape if he can get Finnigan to partner with you every lesson until you take your OWLs!'

Tracey looked scandalised but nodded regretfully either way. In their last lesson before the holidays, their Head of House had shot Tracey a nasty look while proclaiming loudly how Finnigan, who had managed to melt two cauldrons in one lesson, was still only the _second_ worst student he had ever had to suffer in lessons.

Daphne drummed her fingers on the plate of glass for a while, before she snappishly demanded, 'Does Malfoy know?'

Tracey averted her eyes. 'What does he have to do with anything?'

Jumping to her feet, Daphne growled at the little girl opposite her, holding in the tempting desire to throw the bottle. _Why does she have to make it so difficult?_

Drawing a deep breath, she sat down again and spoke in a cold voice, 'Please! Do you think I'm _that_ daft? If Narcissa and Bellatrix settled for the same hairstyle and colour, you wouldn't be able to tell them apart. And we _all_ know to whom the Lestranges owe allegiance.'

Suddenly, she felt like she was being doused with melt water. Her mouth dried up instantly as a terrible suspicion sprang to her mind. Not daring to dwell on those frightful thoughts any longer, she whispered in a husky voice, 'Merlin! You …You're not actually related to the Blacks, are you?'

The other girl looked at her in complete shock. After a while, she answered in an erratic voice, 'Not more directly than the Weasleys are or the Potters were, I suspect.'

Daphne breathed out wildly and took a deep gulp from the bottle.

 _No, that simply can't be! No matter how paranoid the Blacks are, it was_ I _who presented Tracey to Arcturus and Harry, wasn't it? And I_ know _her father is Muggle-born._

Slowly calming herself, she refocused on her first question. 'So? Does Malfoy know?'

Tracey filled her glass with a bit of water without looking up, obviously wanting something in her hands as well. 'I don't know. I would hazard a guess that he suspects something is up.'

'What _is_ up then?' snapped Daphne fiercely.

Her best friend flinched again. 'Harry likely intends to keep everyone safe from the slander and all that.'

Daphne couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and ask sarcastically, 'That's everything? He's worried about a bit of gossip?'

'No. It's a bit more complicated than that. Besides the physical assaults one would have to take from the Puff and Gryffin blokes, the political situation has become rather complicated.'

Daphne was rather taken aback by this. 'What? Just because someone tried to frame Harry?'

Tracey grinned in return. 'Salazar, Daphne! How did you come to be in our house again?'

She couldn't help herself and retaliated by poking her tongue out at the small witch. 'Let's–hypothetically–pretend that I didn't consider any political implications because I was wrapped up in my personal mess, Tracey.'

'Hypothetically?' her friend challenged her, sporting a superior smirk.

Daphne nodded emphatically. 'Hypothetically!'

Tracey's grin slipped from her face like a raindrop from a sheet of glass. 'It's a big deal, Daphne. Someone obviously challenged the Blacks by trying to frame Harry. The moment this plot failed, everything froze to a stand-off. The challenging party obviously cannot make another move so soon, otherwise the risk of being discovered becomes exponentially higher. Arcturus would no doubt call in every favour necessary to completely _annihilate_ whoever dared attack his grandson. At the same time, because of the Blacks' reputation, defending Harry while his innocence is not publicly proven automatically finds the defending party guilty of deeper political alignment with them. That is something no pure-blood family could possibly risk at the present time. The fallout would be drastic. Well, not counting the Lestranges perhaps, but their public support of the Blacks has already cost them practically all the political sway they had in the past. In summary, this leaves only Harry to move as he pleases.'

'But,' Daphne stammered, 'but Harry isn't stupid. He must know all this!'

Tracey smiled sadly at her. 'No, Harry isn't stupid. In fact, I believe he figured this all out in the first few minutes after the…incident. That's why he rebuffed your approach on the following morning. You being seen with him would likely already have been enough to sow the seeds of suspicion. Your grandmother would not have been pleased, probably.'

 _This is so infuriating. Why is it so complicated being friends with Harry?_

'But this can't be right! He's just a boy! I mean, we've associated with him all our lives, right? I practically stalked him on our first day at school. Why would this be different?'

'Well,' Tracey continued with an air of forced calm, 'firstly, his abdication has made his own position perfectly clear. It took a while, as this is not exactly something the Prophet would write about, but now it's common knowledge what Harry did. Where there used to be room for interpretation, now remains only one cold fact. Secondly, everyone knows you _are_ related to the Blacks, Daphne. No matter what your family currently does politically, other people will tolerate you, and me by extension, being friendly with him. Normally, that is. There will always be people who will openly associate with the Blacks, no matter their bad repute.

'Look at it from a Slytherin perspective; even if it causes some tongues to wag, the Blacks have much to offer, and everyone knows it. So – as long as your actions can be perceived as being purely self-serving, any contact, or friendship for that matter, can be explained away. But once the obvious risk outweighs the immediate benefit, things start getting sketchy.'

'You make it sound like you think it's right what he's doing, Tracey.' Daphne demanded hotly. When her friend didn't immediately answer and started playing with her robes, she raised her voice in fury, 'I can't believe it! You truly think it's for the best that we just part ways because some nutter tried to frame him? I don't give a shit what those stupid Ministry pricks think, I won't abandon him!'

Tracey looked stricken and held up her hands in an attempt to calm Daphne. 'Please! I'm not saying we should abandon him, Daphne! Please calm down, and don't do anything stupid, I beg you! By Salazar, maybe it's actually better you overheard, otherwise you would've gone completely ballistic once you actually _had_ figured out what he's doing. I seriously wonder why your mother didn't speak of this to you...'

Daphne shot her friend a fiery glare. 'You told me Harry is free to act, right? So, he can fix this, can't he? Once everybody knows he's innocent, they will tolerate us being friends with him again?'

Tracey grimaced. 'Yeah, usually that would be the case. However, someone seems to be instigating the Puffs and Gryffs to thrash him all the time. I honestly don't know if it is someone acting in concert with those who tried to frame him, or somebody hoping to benefit some other way. It may even be simple malicious hate, as Harry will be hard pressed to confront either side as long as he stands between both. Thus, whoever plays grey eminence is relatively safe as long as the situation doesn't change.'

Daphne scowled. 'What else?'

Tracey started playing with her robes again, eyes averted. 'Well, I personally believe Harry will be forced to act soon, all the same. He won't let the situation deteriorate any further.'

'Huh? I thought you said it was a standstill?' Daphne pressed.

Tracey rolled her eyes. 'Amy starts next year...'

Now it was Daphne's turn to wince. 'Oh, right.'

'I have not a single doubt in my mind that Amy would take a Gryffindor hostage on her very first night at school and demand to be given information about Harry's attackers.'

Daphne couldn't help agreeing. She groaned.

'She may even get away with it, Daphne. Amy is anything but stupid. The problem lies solely in any repercussions should it _not_ work. Still, I believe neither Arcturus nor Harry will take that risk; it's simply not the way they dance to the tune.'

'Dance!' Daphne snorted. 'Let's not talk about danc…Hey, wait a moment! You said it was political suicide to align with the Blacks right now, but isn't that exactly what _that woman_ is doing? How come she gets away with it when I can't?'

Tracey's face morphed into a truly ugly look of contempt. 'That would be because she is one opportunistic bitch. Since she has no known family ties in Britain, political fallout is all but irrelevant to her as long as it doesn't compromise her position at school. Yet that will never happen, thanks to Arcturus' and Lucius' influence over the Hogwarts board of governors. So, as I said, all in all she is completely safe.'

Tracey paused, seemingly deep in thought. 'Not only that. Now that I think about it, she can obviously sell her affiliation to the Blacks at a high price, at this present moment anyway. There are precious few people who can be so open with their support of Harry's family for now, leaving her in a very advantageous bargaining position.'

'I _loathe_ that woman, Tracey,' bellowed Daphne. _Wow, that's some surprisingly heartfelt hatred, Daphne._ _Ever the philanthropist._

Tracey smiled at her honest proclamation. 'No objections here.'

Tapping on the sheet of glass, Daphne brooded over what she had been told for a while. 'Why were there so many people at the ball?'

'What do you mean?' Tracey asked, apparently perplexed by the sudden change of topic.

'You just stated that no pure-blood family wants to be publicly linked with the Blacks right now. Why is practically half of Britain here tonight, then? I think I even saw the family of the Minister, and they don't get along particularly well with Arcturus, do they?'

'It's not about being chummy, Daphne; it's all about business. As you said, practically all the important families have representatives here tonight. You'd be surprised how many deals and contracts will have been agreed upon by now. That's mostly why even the families close to the Ministry have accepted the invitation. They've tried to establish a ball at the Ministry these past few years, but it didn't work out, apparently. You know best how traditional some families can be, and this is simply the most renowned Yule Ball there is in Britain.'

Grumpily nodding in understanding, Daphne continued with the tapping of her fingernails. Realising that the smaller witch didn't have anything more to add, Daphne suddenly scowled.

'So?' she demanded sternly.

'So…what?' Tracey asked in honest puzzlement.

'So what are we going to do about this mess? Even if you want to duck out, Tracey, I swear by the names of my forebears, I will do anything to stop those jerks from bothering Harry. And you better help me, because otherwise I may just pull an Amy if I don't get any better ideas.'

Tracey let her head fall back in obvious exasperation. 'I will help you, but promise me you won't do anything _at all_ , until I have a plan of some sort. Something is bugging me about this whole business. Maybe we need Draco's help with this.'

'What? There is honestly more? How can this be so complicated? It's just some school stuff, Merlin!' Daphne hit her chair in frustration.

'Yes, Daphne.' Tracey smiled patiently. 'But it's some school stuff about a feud against the pure-blood family that's held the most political influence in Britain for the last thousand years. Even if the last century has been difficult for the Blacks, I wouldn't underestimate how many assets they really have…'

She paused for a while and looked toward the window. 'What's really bothering me is that Arcturus must have cleared Harry's name already, at least legally. Otherwise, there would have been a hearing or, well, _anything_. But it seems that that was actually not enough to clear the air this time. It will die down eventually, but that may take months, and, even then, it is likely that some form of blemish will remain on Harry's reputation. That's the way it is with slander and gossip. Hence, to truly break the stalemate, we need to clear _any_ doubt that Harry is innocent. The most practical way to go about this would be to have the actual perpetrator confess to his crimes. That, in the meantime, would leave Harry free to deal with those in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Let me think about this for a few days, Daphne.'

Daphne nodded, suppressing a yawn. 'Well, that's fine, I guess. But Tracey?' When her friend had locked eyes with her, she continued menacingly, 'Do not ever do that again! Just _tell_ me next time, gosh darn it!'

Daphne had known her friends for ages. Nearly ten years to be exact. But she could not remember seeing her so embarrassed, ever. Watching Tracey practically melt in her seat was truly pitiful.

Settling for a small smile, Daphne asked teasingly, 'Does it ever get boring at school? You know, pretending to be the stupid little girl?'

Tracey effortlessly produced a small simper. 'I've got no idea what you're talking about, Daphy!'

 _~BLHD~_

'Don't you think this is far enough? There is such a thing as class and decorum, you know, my dear. And to think you've done so well this eve until now – a pity!'

Aenor whirled around, wand pointing in the direction of the unfamiliar female voice. There in the corridor stood a person, arms crossed and casually leaning against the wall, hidden in the shadows. She couldn't make out any features; some trick of light completely veiled the other person, though she estimated the voice at about forty years of age.

'I'd advise you to put that thing away, my dear. You don't want to know what happens to intruders who make use of their wands in here...'

Aenor hesitantly lowered her wand, speculations about her unbidden companion wildly cavorting through her mind. Eventually, she gave in to the curiosity. 'Who are you?'

'Oh, I'm so sorry. We haven't been introduced tonight. Sadly, I'm afraid that is quite out of the question right now. Such a shame, you seem like an interesting young woman.'

'Have we met?' Aenor asked cautiously.

'Oh, not as such, no. But I've been treated to an entertaining evening, thanks to you. Instigating little girls, eavesdropping at doors, exploring the mansion in the dead of the night. Why, what an adventurous young lady you've turned out to be...'

Aenor's eyes narrowed. The dungeons, though confessedly ghoulish, had not had an effect on her, but being followed for two hours without noticing was, she had to admit it, a bit spooky.

'I might be forced to have a word with Harry about some personal feedback, come to think of it,' the other person said innocently. Aenor's heartbeat quickened, but before she could say anything, her unknown interlocutor continued in what Aenor considered to be barely suppressed gloating. 'About the house, my dear. I presume that he's given you the tour? We may have to brush it up a bit if the youth of this age isn't satisfied with it any more. We aim to be in touch with modern society, after all.'

Aenor subtly glanced at the empty corners of the room before she answered in a steely voice, 'Now that I think about it, Harry failed to show me the hidden school of elocution and barely concealed threats that should be down in the cellar somewhere...'

Her counterpart let out a surprisingly girlish laugh. 'I admire your confidence, Miss Rose.'

'I don't need a wand to win a fight,' responded Aenor coolly.

'No doubt. I've heard of your gifts: you've left all of us quite intrigued. But it would be such a waste to let it come to an end here, Miss Rose.'

Aenor carefully refrained from sneering. 'You mean you want to continue this? How touching.'

'My, you _are_ fun!' Her head rolled back in laughter. It was strange how natural her amusement sounded, even though Aenor had to assume everything else was a facade. 'Such a firebrand, no wonder Harry likes you. But, from one woman to another, let me explain some things to you so that you won't succumb to any more misunderstandings in the future.'

'Misunderstandings? Well, then please teach me, mysterious hag that clings too desperately to her youth,' Aenor returned sarcastically.

Still laughing, the other woman playfully pushed herself off the wall, and lightly danced in her direction, arms cutely folded behind her back. 'You were under the impression that your dealings were restricted to the Blacks, meaning Arcturus, and by extension Harry, I presume?'

'Well, of course,' Aenor said impatiently. The other person was a bit too close for someone she couldn't clearly define as an enemy or not.

'And this is where it all went downhill for you, poppet.' Another middle-aged female voice breathed these words directly into her left ear.

Eyes widening, Aenor froze. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw half a dozen shadows solidifying into blurred figures of witches and wizards pointing their wands at her.

'What you failed to realise, Miss Rose…' a third unknown voice, male this time, called out in a bored tone of superiority.

'… While there may only be two people who publicly bear the name of Black … ' another unseen woman, younger this time, interjected.

'… Darkness thrives only in the absence of light,' concluded her original counterpart smugly.


	15. HD: Interlude II: Danse macabre

**Interlude II: Danse macabre**

* * *

Harry grimaced slightly as he made his way down the stairs. All his muscles were aching in protest. Suppressing a wince, he opened the door to the smaller informal dining room where Arcturus was already engrossed in his study of the daily news.

'Good morning, Grandfather,' Harry greeted him, bowing politely.

'Ah, Harry, excellent. A very good morning to you as well. How are you today?' Arcturus appeared behind the Prophet, smirking with what Harry considered uncalled-for gloating.

'Well, Grandfather, even though it left me quite sore, I rather enjoyed yesterday evening.'

'I am glad you had a good time. Miss Rose sends her compliments but respectfully declined the invitation for breakfast.'

Harry made a tired grab for the cutlery as a small grin lit up his exhausted features. 'At least I'm not the only one suffering today.'

'I should think not. She might have had an even more...strenuous evening than you,' Arcturus responded, his expression amused. 'I have to thank you for doing so well, Harry. In general, our guests were very pleased with the ball and your dedication to the role of the host.' He paused for a bit, nodding his approval. 'I gather there was quite a bit of public interest as to whether the both of you would break the record for the most dances shared during one evening. I would never have guessed you so enthused, Harry.'

Arcturus' smile was a bit _too_ understanding, and Harry fought hard to keep the blush from his face. Clearing his throat, he uttered a carefully phrased answer that might allow him to retain at least a shred of dignity. 'Well, she is a superb partner for a ball, in the end. I...did not wish to treat her in an unbecoming manner.'

Arcturus chuckled and hid behind his paper again. 'Naturally, Harry. Naturally.'

Harry, glad that his grandfather was not tormenting him any longer, turned his full attention to the nourishment of his suffering body.

Just as he had finished his meal, about eighty owls descended upon them in a great rush of feathers and noise. Most of them dropped their load between the two Blacks, but some, Harry noticed, left their letters practically in Arcturus' lap. Just then, a single letter was delivered directly to him by a handsome grey eagle-owl with blue eyes.

Smiling sadly, Harry opened it after glancing at the sender:

 _Dear Harry,_

 _We would like to thank you for your thoughtfulness in arranging for our presence at yesterday's grand ball. We very much enjoyed the evening and are pleased that, even after so many years, the occasion still stands as a tasteful gathering for friends and family._

 _Please extend our salutations to your delightful companion, and rest assured that we would be glad to repay your kindness should you ever find yourself in need of assistance or favour._

 _Respectfully,  
Your loving aunt,_

 _Andromeda_

 _P.S.: Wotcha, Harry! Forgot to tell you yesterday: I'm applying for the Auror corps, wish me luck! -Dora_

Chuckling, Harry reflected that it was rather amusing how Andromeda _insisted_ on him calling her aunt, even though they were actually second cousins. And Nymphadora…well, she was just being herself. She'd started ranting about becoming an Auror the moment she had gotten her first wand, as far as family legend told. That ambition had been one of the many points of frictions between the Tonkses and the Blacks. Harry had tried to find a compromise by inviting Andromeda and her daughter, as he knew Arcturus would have refused Ted entry. A ball was as much political business as it was about frivolity, after all. The need for this ungainly behaviour had saddened Harry, who actually did like the whole family, but there was no denying that Ted's views on some matters were not welcome at such an event. Harry dearly hoped that Nymphadora entering the Aurors wouldn't set them apart even further in the future...

Arcturus had obviously been watching him, as he smiled warmly when Harry looked up. 'I, too, am not very happy with the situation, Harry. But even if I were to bring myself to overlook Edward's personal opinions, I simply could not weaken my own position that evening, especially at the moment. All things considered, though I might have held reservations in the beginning, I am quite glad you invited Andromeda and her daughter. It is inequitable enough how we fight our battles over Nymphadora's head, drawing her between the lines. I'd like to believe that she enjoyed a fine evening without the usual bickering, simply savouring the company of her family.'

Harry nodded heavily. 'She still wishes to become an Auror, Grandfather. She wrote about her letter of application.'

Arcturus shook his head but revealed a sly smile nonetheless. 'I cannot exactly approve, but it is her future, in the end. Maybe she doesn't consider the implications and simply assumes it to be a job like any other. We should be understanding in this matter, Harry. It should not be us who point out how flawed her perception is. She will be confronted with the Ministry's view on her _subversive relatives_ all too soon, and then she may form her own opinion. Until then, we should support her decision.'

Arcturus leaned back in his chair and shot Harry a fond but slightly critical look. 'You have good friends, Harry, and your generation of the family does give me hope. But if there is one flaw I can detect in the lot of you, even in you Harry, then it would be how independent you are in your actions.' He delicately placed a white and non-descript looking envelope on the table. 'And some of you are a bit too impatient and naïve.'

Harry smiled sheepishly, but his eyes were riveted on the small mailer.

 _~BLHD~_

Later that day, Harry knelt next to his trunk, his mind submerged in his _Nentray_.

 _All my investigations into the proud oriental enchanters of old have given me reason to believe that what we consider to be a fairy tale, a myth to amuse our children, has in fact–at one point at least–existed: Auramancing. While today the best even a superior witch or wizard can hope to accomplish is to remove all magical traces by force, I firmly believe that skills exist or existed that allowed wizards to manipulate or even impersonate the individual characteristics of magic that remain mysterious to all but the most accomplished of sorcerers. Imagine, dear reader: an enchanter capable of perfectly imitating another so completely that even advanced spells or rituals could not tell the finished works apart. Or a wizard capable of bypassing any ward by imitating their masters. I am left excited, pondering what the Ministry or the goblins would do, should such a skill ever be unearthed in modern times. Why...the bloodbath would be glorious!_

Harry re-read the paragraph for the fourth time, a small prickle creeping down his spine. He looked from the trunk to the book at his feet and shook his head. _No way!_

'Not content with the state of its security, Harry?'

A rather palish Aenor had slipped into his room and casually settled herself on his desk, a cup of steaming tea in her hand.

'Oh, finally up?' Harry smiled victoriously. 'We were wondering if you intended to sleep through the whole day.'

'I, well, I guess I didn't get much sleep, so to speak,' she remarked with a curious expression.

'Are you alright?' Harry asked, puzzled at her uncommon admittance of weakness.

His question seemed to put her back in good spirits. 'I'm fine, don't fuss. But having a go at me as soon as I'm out of bed? Not very classy, Harry!' Starting to smirk, she added in a teasing tone, 'And you were so _cute_ yesterday, hanging on to my every word and whim.'

'Well, eh, I did nothing more than was expected, I'm sure.' Turning an embarrassing shade of red again, Harry tried to keep his response casual, avoiding her eyes as he looked back over to the trunk.

'So,' Aenor prodded him, 'what's with the trunk?' After a short pause she hastily added, 'If you don't mind me asking.'

Harry hesitated a moment, but quickly remembered that Aenor knew a lot more than him about magic. He cleared his throat delicately. 'Well, I have been wondering if it's possible to remove something from within, without attacking the wards. But I have to admit the potential answers I've stumbled upon seem a bit far-fetched.'

'Removing without breaking the wards, hmm...' Aenor rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes for a second. Then she looked from the door, to the trunk, to Harry. 'Have you considered magical modes of transportation? If you've failed to ward your trunk against those, apparition and portkeys are obvious flaws, but that would be the obvious explanation, I guess.'

To her amazement, Harry's eyes grew wide, and he hung onto her every word. He slowly opened his mouth and asked in a raspy voice, 'Do you think it is possible to apparate items?'

Aenor seemed to consider this, and the playfulness vanished entirely from her gesture. 'An interesting question I have asked myself as well. The answer would be–to my knowledge–no. Witches and wizards were never able to emulate that particular skill, hence the invention of the portkey. I doubt you've actually spent time studying Apparition, but it has to do with how the magic works; the whole intent of the process circles around willing yourself to move. It's not that easy to completely reverse the process...'

Harry nodded. He had taken note of her phrasing; 'emulate', she had said. He couldn't help recalling how often elves seemed to procure items their masters desired. Cranky did it all the time, and Lobbo had done it, too, back at Hogwarts. He had always assumed them conjured or maybe carried by the elves, but how could one be entirely sure? And wasn't there something about conjuring provisions...?

'I actually took so long to get ready to leave, Harry.' Aenor's voice pierced his thoughts like a cold steel.

'Wh-what? You're leaving?' he blurted out, completely taken aback.

'So? You going to miss me, Harry?' she demanded, her voice smug and teasing.

Harry just gaped at her. He opened his mouth but shut it again shortly thereafter. Then he made another attempt. 'Y-yeah, reckon I will,' he said earnestly.

Aenor's expression softened until a gentle and earnest smile graced her lips. 'Your language is slipping, Harry.'

He just shrugged, still looking at her.

She jumped from the desk and walked through the room, dragging Harry, who still looked dumbfounded, to his feet. 'Well, I have trespassed on your grandfather's hospitality long enough. I'll still see you at Hogwarts, anyway.'

 _~BLHD~_

Harry gave a start, jerked himself free, and practically ran towards the door. Without looking back, he shouted, 'Don't move from the spot, Aenor!'

A few minutes later, he returned, breathing heavily, a small scroll of parchment in his hand. Puffing and blowing, he wordlessly handed it to her, still trying to catch his breath. Aenor was slightly overwhelmed by his uncharacteristic behaviour, but accepted the scroll all the same. As soon as she touched the heavy sheet, the air between her fingers seemed to sizzle. Whatever this was, it was old magic, and powerful. Parts of it, however, felt faintly familiar.

The caption read:

 _Contract of agreement between the witch known as Aenor Eydís Rose and the wizard Harry James Black_.

To her amazement, it established rules for the promised teaching of her fabric-barrier to Harry. He in turn was forced to never divulge what he would come to learn about it to anyone but his direct descendants or Aenor herself. Harry had already signed, her signature all that remained to seal the document.

The letters were written in a deep, foreboding red, while the power of the curse inscribed within was such that the magic somehow distorted the light around the parchment, blurring the script and absorbing the surrounding brightness.

Greed for knowledge and pride vied for supremacy, as she levelled an affectionate look at the young scion of the Blacks. 'You wrote the contract and the spells that are bound to it, Harry?'

'Eh, yes, I did. Though I did not invent them, of course. So? What do you think?'

She reluctantly cut her inspection short and, for once, concealed her emotions from Harry. She delicately licked her lips and asked, 'What happens if you break the agreement? I see no mention of repercussions.'

The boy waved it off impatiently. 'I suffer extreme, ongoing physical and mental pain relative to the breach of confidence. Should I willingly break the spirit of the contract as a whole, I die a most agonising and drawn-out death.'

Aenor could not help but blink twice at his nonchalant explanation.

Harry seemed to misinterpret her closed expression, losing his nerve. 'I...I thought you might like it? It is mostly for your own benefit, after all...?'

Unable to keep a straight face any longer, Aenor guffawed wildly, instantly remembering her own grandfather reprimanding her thousands of times to drop the habit. 'And you call _me_ a piece of work, Harry?' She stopped her laughter for a few moments to reassure the boy who looked like a five-year-old caught in a doorbell prank. 'You used my blood as part of the ink, didn't you? I can feel it...'

He nodded hesitantly. Still laughing, she shook her head exasperatedly and promptly signed the contract with a flourish. The exact moment she took the quill of the parchment, it vanished in a small puff of black smoke, and she could feel the magic taking hold of her. 'What did you use the rest of it for? The blood, I mean.'

'Merlin!' He jumped violently, looking almost frightened. 'Nearly forgot, sorry about that. Sweet Morgana, it was lucky you remembered that.'

With that, he procured a second piece of parchment from within his robes, though his one was tiny and lazily folded by comparison, much like a crib sheet. Despite its mundane appearance, Aenor detected at least two powerful enchantments that seemed to have different purposes on the scrap paper.

Raising an eyebrow, she opened it wordlessly.

 _Miss Aenor Rose may, with impunity, seek out the Blacks at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

 _Odd choice of wording_ , Rose mused.

Once again, the paper crumbled and burst into harmless smoke the moment she had finished reading. To her surprise however, she felt another ripple of magic around her, even though the _Fidelius_ should normally not directly affect the subject in such a dire manner.

Harry didn't seem to take notice and continued to blabber on in what she considered to be genuine happiness. 'Grandfather told me he sent you a portkey to get you here, same as with all the guests. As a thank you for your company and all that,' he fumbled meekly with his robes before continuing, 'I have asked the old man if he would key you into the outer wards. He agreed, provided you presented me your blood willingly for the process without knowing what purpose we had in mind for it... You are still bound to the rules he laid out for you on the eve of your arrival, but you may visit us anytime we are at our casual abode in London. You'll not be able to talk about it, and I would also advise you not to divulge how long your stay with us here in the country was.'

Aenor winced slightly at the mention of the rules, but-most luckily-Harry had apparently not noticed her odd behaviour. 'Wow, your family really did this thoroughly; there aren't many wizards up to that ritual. Are all your properties secured by a _Fidelius_ , Harry? Seems like my own family could have learned a lesson from the Blacks...' She couldn't help but show her relief, finally finding out what he had used her blood for and grinned from ear to ear. 'There are some quirky rumours about visiting the Blacks, Harry. How many people are keyed into your outer wards and _Fidelius_ in London?'

'Outside of the family? We do not offer that "service" at all under normal circumstances, so the number is actually rather limited... Less than five for the moment.'

Trying to calm herself, she smiled whimsically to bridge the nervousness. 'That makes me pretty special, wouldn't you say?'

To her amusement, Harry immediately looked rather uncomfortable. 'W-well, I, eh, thought we were friends...?' Immediately, his eyes shot her a searching look, and she could see the panic building behind the lush green. _Just how good of an actor is he usually...? Unbelievable!_

Registering her smile growing on its own, she pulled him towards her, smothering him in a tight embrace. As she ruffled his hair again, she couldn't help feeling tricksy and added in a low voice, 'If you show that insecure side of yours to anyone else at Hogwarts, I might just get a little jealous, you know?'

 _It's somewhat annoying that things have become a bit complicated, but excessive planning's only for cravens who fear fate, right? Isn't that what you always used to tell me, Grandfather?_

 _~BLHD~_

Relaxing into the depths of his favourite armchair by the fireplace, Harry was tired enough that he had Cranky do the research in the library. The fire crackled merrily, enthusiastically shooting glowing sparks into the depths of the chimney. Rubbing his eyes, Harry leaned back in his seat, reflecting on the last fortnight. Contrary to what he might have originally believed and to his great surprise, he had actually ended up enjoying himself quite a bit, not despite but rather thanks to Aenor's company. It was hard to admit, even to himself, but he couldn't deny that the last few hours had been kind of dull, even though he had had all the time in the library for himself.

 _Well, it's not too long until I have to ride the damn train with those obnoxiously clueless people I have to call classmates again._

Sighing in relaxation, he closed his eyes and let the soothing sound of the burning logs wash over him. Considering Aenor's last warning shortly before she'd left, Harry had decided to put in every effort possible into his Occlumency, especially seeing that his grandfather had also advised him to strengthen his mental discipline. But not tonight! He was just a bit too drowsy to be bothered. Cranky would find all the relevant works in all of their libraries, and Harry could start working his way through them at some later time...

The moment his mind was starting to peacefully drift away, the voice of his grandfather brought him back to the present. 'Are you sure you'd not rather retreat for the night, Harry?'

Hastily blinking a few times, Harry tried to his best to appear alert and awake. It couldn't have been a very good effort, though, as Arcturus' voice reached him yet again, drenched in amusement. 'Really, Harry. You might want to practise that a bit more. It may even look natural given enough effort, without the shadows under your eyes and the telling line of saliva.'

'Pardon me?' Harry blurted out, hectically looking for a handkerchief before he saw the expression on his grandfather's face. 'Oh, very funny, Grandfather!'

Arcturus' eyes twinkled kindly, and he sat down in another armchair by the fireside in one fluid motion that belied his age. 'I thought I might keep you company for a bit, Harry. It is painful to witness your forlorn and melancholic expression this evening, with you sitting here in the dark, brooding in front of the fire. 'Tis true, I am probably not the company you so passionately crave at the moment, but still...'

Harry lifted both hands and directed an imploring look towards his grandfather, all the while feeling increasingly hot around his ears and neck. 'Please! I give up. Can I, at least, hope for a ceasefire this evening?'

'As you wish, Harry. Mercy for the eve,' Arcturus conceded generously. Eyeing his grandson for several very long moments, Arcturus' expression grew stern. 'Does she realise that we did not use all of the blood?'

The younger Black avoided the elder one's gaze and guiltily dropped his eyes. 'She did not ask...' After a few moments of telling silence, Harry braced a question that had been on his mind for the whole afternoon. 'Would you have saved her from the curse if I hadn't asked it of you?'

Darkness seemed to swirl around Arcturus' figure even though Harry knew he hadn't consciously used magic. Only the eyes of his grandfather stood out against the lack of light while he contemplated Harry's question. 'I am not sure. When I heard what she did to you after your first lesson, there was little doubt in my mind that she would find her end here tonight; when you invited her on your own, I grew hesitant; and when I eventually saw the both of you on the morrow of my return, I seriously considered letting her go. Humbling, really, but I do not believe she was ever aware of the kind of danger her life was in...'

Arcturus exhaled perceptibly. 'I can tell you with a certainty that my father would never have let her leave on her own terms. He would have made an example of her and in the process reminded you that personal relations are nothing before the family. To this day, I am still not sure whether this doctrine holds true or not...'

After another short break, Arcturus said, 'No matter. It really is all speculation now, seeing as your request rendered the point obsolete. But even so, Harry,' Arcturus looked up from the flames towards Harry, and the fire bathed his usually pearlescent eyes in a bloody red, 'she acknowledged the rules of being our guest, but broke with them all the same.'

 _Yes, Grandfather. But there has only been a handful of people in over a millennium who've managed to not run afoul of them – not to forget that you_ let _her snoop around the house a bit_... Harry did, however, not voice his opinion, mostly because he grumblingly agreed that he was too conflicted about the matter to reason adequately.

'How about we have a little impromptu lesson this evening?' Arcturus interrupted his pondering. 'You might as well make a fresh start with your studies on the Mind Arts tomorrow.'

'I'd like that,' Harry returned with a reminiscent smile. 'But I doubt that I am up to answering questions tonight.'

Arcturus smiled kindly, wrinkling the familiar face that was well advanced in years. 'That's alright, son. Simply ask me some questions, and I will do my best to keep you entertained.'

Hesitating slightly, Harry asked unassertively, 'I have always wondered what the Dark Lord and his ilk were like. I know it to be a heavy topic, but do you think...?'

The dark chuckle of his grandfather's wafted through the room with menacing foreboding. 'It seems tonight is a time for gruesome topics, Harry. But it is of no concern to me; telling tales about those times in a shadowy room lit only by an open fire seems strangely fitting, even.' Arcturus entwined his fingers and gazed into the far corner of the room where their silhouettes danced to the pulse of the flames.

'You can read about the war or Grindelwald's magical prowess in any book. But there are times when books fail, and there are things that are hard to wrap in words, even for me.

'I saw him once, Harry, the Dark Lord. During his trial, he sat there on his chair as if it were a throne; poised...inviolable. Even in shackles, he was the ultimate orator, his voice our ambrosia. I listened to him, wanting to believe so very much how all of his decisions-harsh maybe but still necessary at the time-just added up, convoluted into some kind of unavoidable chain of unfortunate events that led him to be tied up where he was. He spoke, and we all listened. Listened, enthralled, to his dreams of a better world, his promises of splendour, his righteous call for vengeance... It was magic like I have never witnessed ever since, and there was no wand involved, Harry, not a single wand in sight.

'But then the images came back.' Arcturus' voice grew sick with hate. 'The stories we'd heard about the camps, the arbitrary slaughtering, the trials. Merlin, the trials! We were unlucky enough to have several memories about those processes to peruse, and I have never seen anything so distasteful in my entire life, Harry: the accused knew he was innocent, the prosecutor knew him to be innocent, the judge as well as several witnesses, too. Yet still, with mechanical diabolicalness it always came to light just how very guilty the accused really was, _everyone_ really was. You were either guilty or useful, and never either for very long.'

Arcturus turned his head towards Harry and spoke in a hushed voice, 'He was the devil. And real fiends don't force you. Nay, they twist you until the most heinous, the most despicable act of depravity appears to be the just and honourable thing to do, and you dutifully follow suit, proud even of your service. The true demon doesn't throw you into the abyss, my son. No, he gives you a ladder, takes you by the hand and smilingly shows you the way, one step at a time...'


	16. HD: Approach

**_AN:_ **_Warning!_

 _This chapter will allude to political views people may be uncomfortable with or have strong views about. I just wish to make it absolutely clear that the characters are just the characters. Simply because Harry or possibly other main characters do have certain political agendas that may relate to real-life, that doesn't mean that I share or denounce those sentiments, wish to campaign for or against them, or even want to open a debate. Hermeneutics be damned!_

 **Approach**

* * *

'Mind the books, boy!'

Looking over his shoulder, Harry's eyes found the picture of the impressive medieval throne that hung above his bed, its gilded canvas glittering in the dawn. The regular occupant lay sprawled at the feet of another wizard with an eccentric silver-green turban, a very pointy beard, and alert, calculating eyes.

'No need to worry, I love those books,' replied Harry calmly as he continued to add more family tomes that might help him with Occlumency to his already loaded trunk.

'Humph!' huffed the painting indignantly. 'In my time, youngsters had no need to pilfer their family libraries. Have Hogwarts standards truly fallen so piteously low?'

'I don't think so, but after spending so much time there, I'm convinced that someone purged the library of certain topics,' Harry hinted with a dark look.

'And which topics would that be, boy?' the painted wizard demanded, eyes narrowed.

'The Mind Arts, first and foremost, though some older texts on wizarding culture and history, as well as others on several darker magics and rituals, seem to be missing. Well, I can understand those I mentioned last, at least.'

Harry's dialogue partner didn't seem to share his opinion. 'What is this? Blasphemy! Who dares rob the scions of upstanding families of their right to defend themselves? That is the pinnacle of scandals, unforgivable!'

'Well,' another, slightly muffled voice interrupted, 'one might argue that Legillimens are incredibly rare. One would have to be quite lucky to meet even a handful of practitioners, even with a fulfilled life. And will you finally get off me, you disrespectful brat?'

'Hmph!' The clever-looking wizard seated himself elegantly on the throne, completely disregarding the wizard at his feet. 'Well, that's no excuse, seeing as our rakish headmaster is a practitioner himself, and he's not the only one at Hogwarts by a long shot. You have my permission to take the books, boy, but if I catch you mistreating them, I'll sick the Grim on you!'

By now, the other figure was standing again, brushing the dust off his clothes. 'Don't let him speak to you like that, young master. Phineas has always been an obnoxious brat. Oh, the stories I could tell you...'

'Well,' the old headmaster coughed suddenly, not at all gracefully, 'I'll see you at Hogwarts, boy. Hex some half-wits in the corridors for me, will you? And it's Phineas Nigellus, if you don't mind, you ancient fossil.'

Harry smirked. 'It somehow doesn't seem proper for a former headmaster to incite a student to fight against his classmates, or is it just me?'

'Foolish boy, I never said you should _fight_ anyone.' Phineas returned a nasty grin. 'I told you to curse the savages into oblivion.'

Closing the door, Harry couldn't help feeling as if he had left something behind. In a melancholic mood, he thoughtlessly levitated his trunk down the stairs, waving wistfully to all the portraits that called out to him.

'And here I thought we had cured you of that expression, Harry.' Arcturus stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched his grandson's expression with a crooked grimace. 'Son, you know you have people watching over you at Hogwarts, even if they cannot reveal themselves so easily. And should anything drastic happen, I promise I shall be the first to lead the charge, the first to tear down the ancient walls and the last left standing to salt the earth,' the Head of House Black vowed gravely.

Harry raised his chin a bit and looked up at his grandfather with a pained look. 'I know. Thank you...'

Squeezing the shoulder of his future successor, Arcturus took the casket with the Floo Powder. 'Hiding oneself rarely solves any problem, Harry. I wish it were different; we could just sit in our mansions and wait until the number of fools decreases by itself as war chases war, but alas, the folly of mankind is eternal. Of that, I am rather certain.'

 _~BLHD~_

Hurriedly forcing his way through the masses, Harry decided on a new strategy: Trying his best to overtake the wave of unfriendly recognition that followed wherever he trod. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was as packed with overbearing parents, stray pets, forgotten trunks and cheeky brats as ever, making the course rather advanced in difficulty. Still, Harry persevered and thought he had done reasonably well. Hardly two dozen people had openly pointed at him.

To his dismay, his luck took a quick downturn not too long after that. No matter how far he dragged his trunk, it seemed as if every compartment was already occupied by at least one person. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he started looking for a cabin where he considered the odds of a fight breaking out reasonably low. Stealthily sneaking a peek through the glass panes, he appraised the occupants. Checking the third compartment, he stopped, recognising one figure. The girl with her long and shiny dark hair coupled with warm brown eyes, he knew. The ashen-blond and stocky boy in baggy robes, however, was completely unfamiliar. Sighing and wishing for the best, he opened the door.

The pair of Ravenclaws gaped at him in utter surprise, recognition as evident as blatant shock in their expressions. Harry briefly wondered if he was supposed to say something until the voice of the girl dispelled any such notions from his mind. 'Just my luck! Effing Harry James Black... Well, come in quick if you must. I don't want other people to notice me talking to you.'

'Nice to see you, too, Padma,' Harry returned sarcastically, taking a seat as far away from the girl as possible.

Just when he was reaching within his robes to produce a shrunken book to peruse, the girl's tongue lashed out again. 'I hope you're not up to any trouble, Black!'

'Well,' Harry answered dryly, 'with her highness' permission, I would like to read.'

Padma rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitched a bit. 'Well, that's alright then. This is Basil Fawcett. He's got a sister, and their family is seated in Devonshire.' Hesitating for the briefest of moments, she continued, 'Basil, I guess you know Black? Don't know where his family is holed up, of course, but there are only so many people with that family name...'

Fawcett turned wide-eyed towards Padma. 'You know the Blacks, Padma? You never told me!'

'Oh, uhm,' Padma answered awkwardly, 'just a passing acquaintance, really. Only a handful of families have the kind of money that interests my father, so...'

'Have you met Black before?' Fawcett appeared accusatory.

'Uhm...once? Or twice, maybe?' The elder Patil's voice trailed off lamely before she defensively added in a rush, 'But only at social gatherings!'

Padma quailed under the furious onslaught of Fawcett's gaze. Then, quite out of the blue, the boy suddenly screamed in excitement, 'That is so COOL!'

Both Harry, who had been pretending to read, and Padma twisted their necks simultaneously and blurted out, ' _What_?'

'You should've mentioned this earlier, Padma! Wow, I can't wait to tell my sis. This is so neat!' He was practically bouncing in effusiveness, a big smile plastered on his face.

'Uhm, why are you so hung up on the Blacks, Basil?' Padma asked in honest puzzlement, edging away from him as if he were on fire. Harry couldn't help but agree with the question.

'Are you kidding me, Padma? They're so smooth, like enigmatic social ninjas with loads of money. They're dark and shadowy rebels shrouded in mystery, even though they're actually hailed as the elite, too! The Blacks are just so _wicked_! Like, if you cross them, then you'll die in a gory fountain of blood, for sure,' he exclaimed in a chipper voice before turning thoughtful. 'Or disappear without anyone being the wiser, never ever heard of again. Obviously, that would be totally cool, as well.'

Harry and Padma shared a _look_.

'Do you think you could introduce me?' Fawcett nearly rolled over in eagerness.

'I _am_ sitting right here, you know?' Harry protested feebly.

'And I already _did_ introduce you, Basil...' Padma echoed his sentiment.

But if Fawcett could hear them through his antics, he gave no sign of it. Ignoring their objections, he happily rambled on with the glowing look of a ten-year-old girl with a crush.

 _I guess it's going to be a long ride_ , thought Harry dejectedly.

 _~BLHD~_

In the end, the trip back to Hogwarts had gone reasonably well. Harry was a bit saddened that even the nicer pure-bloods acted as if they'd never seen him in public, but Padma wasn't so bad actually. He'd made a mental note to stay clear of the Fawcetts though. In big letters.

Nothing otherwise remarkable had happened if one discounted the fact that Harry had, with great presence of mind, taken careful and hesitant steps when crossing any significant boundaries on the school grounds. Ignoring the fresh outbreak of muttering and pointing when he had passed the threshold of the castle step by step had been a minor issue, but he'd vowed not to visit the infirmary for three days at least. _Grandfather was right, I guess._ While Harry considered himself relatively patient with anything short of betrayal or family business, it would only be a matter of time before he finally snapped, and he really couldn't count on the goodwill of the aurors if they ever were on his case.

Just when Harry had decided to spend a few hours of undisturbed leisure time in the library, an instinctual shudder caused him to very nearly pause in his steps. Barely managing to keep walking, he subtly gripped his wand more firmly. _What is it now?_ Taking a path towards a cross of corridors, Harry casually walked around the corner. As soon as he considered himself out of sight, he hastily crouched down, silently shifting his body sideways to present a smaller target as he pointed his wand the way he came...

Yet only silence filled the corridor.

Forcing himself not to blink, Harry waited for nearly two minutes, but still nobody approached his position. _I'm not sure if I should be glad that I was imagining things or start to worry about getting paranoid for good now_. The effort to keep his concentration peaked was really taxing, and after another minute, Harry decided to quietly move away. _I feel like a lone soldier behind enemy lines. Merlin, what's wrong with this school?!_

He briefly considered skipping dinner, which would be served in two hours, but neglecting his diet on a hunch felt like a bad habit to start. Even so, he couldn't help feeling rather nervous as he made his way down the corridors, heading for the dungeons. Nodding to a few prefects and some other people in the common room, Harry purposefully raced towards the dormitories, nearly knocking over Shafiq, very much wanting to assure himself that everything was in order with his property.

'What's got your knickers in a twist, Black?' Zabini called out, as soon as he entered. His dorm-mate was lolling lazily on his bed, a book on his pillow.

Ignoring the comment, Harry hastily ascertained that the wards on his trunk were intact, his bed had not been disturbed, nor had his other belongings. _Am I really slowly losing it?_ Calming his breathing, Harry closed his eyes and reinforced his grip on his surroundings.

Slowly, he managed to simmer down a bit, easing his breathing. Harry briefly wondered if he should reply to Zabini after all, but he was apparently already totally engrossed in his lecture once more. Harry made his way down into the common room again. But when he'd made his wa halfway down the stairs, he came to sudden halt again, narrowing his eyes. Not two minutes ago, the common room had been housing approximately fifteen Slytherins of different years. Now, however, it was completely empty despite there being no classes or meals going on. Once more, he felt a shiver run down his spine, and he jumped towards the nearest wall and held out his wand. The tingling in his neck persisted. Scanning the area repeatedly, Harry was frantically speculating where all the people could have wandered off to. He briefly considered dropping his Occlumency to maybe spot something that his eyes couldn't see, but the risk seemed too high considering his lack of practice with that form of perception.

Just when Harry, in a mad rush of desperation, considered casting a semi-permanent alarm-bell charm on the whole room, the door to the common room swung open noisily. Harry _still_ had the feeling of being watched, so he didn't turn around to look at the new arrival. His stalker was probably not as carelessly strepitous as the ham-fisted newcomer.

'Harry! What are you _doing_?' Tracey stood a few meters to his right, eyes widened in shock at his expression, frantically reaching for her own wand, Harry noted out of the corner of his eyes.

'Oh, nothing. Jumping at shadows, maybe,' he returned with more confidence than he felt.

'Jumping at shadows? Salazar, you've got sweat running down your face and looked just about ready to blast the room to bits when I entered! Did you see anything?' Tracey asked nervously.

'Not really, just a feeling.' To his relief, Tracey's arrival seemed to have put a stop to the strange phenomenon. 'Where is everyone? Not a few minutes ago this room was bustling with upper years.'

'No idea. Maybe they were just having a short meeting for the prefects or something? Oh, by the way, I was told to give you this,' she said while waving a slim scroll of parchment under his nose.

'What is that, then?' Harry asked, puzzled.

'No idea. Professor Snape told me to give it to you, though he wasn't very nice about it. He made me repeat whom to give it to three times! Like I'm some kind of imbecile or something,' she whined exasperatedly.

'Well,' Harry said venturously, 'your performance in Potions does occasionally suggest just that.' Tracey glowered but he smirked briefly before continuing, 'But I think he really _is_ unreasonably hard on you.'

'Yes, he is, isn't he?!' Tracey looked eager to receive his reassurance.

'Definitely,' Harry answered kindly. 'I mean, I don't think there are many people who have the natural talent to melt their cauldron thrice in such creatively different ways while preparing a simple Glimmering Potion.'

'Really funny, Harry.' Tracey stuck out her tongue. 'You're such a glib talker now, but just where was that daringness when you were preparing to wreck the whole common room just because you're afraid of being alone?'

Shrugging, Harry opened the scroll.

 _Dear Mr Black,_

 _If you find yourself agreeable, I would very much like to have a word with you in my office at your earliest convenience this evening, with your Head of House in attendance._

 _Hoping to see you soon,  
Albus Dumbledore_

Harry stared at the slanted, elegant handwriting for a few moments until Tracey's high-pitched voice forced its way into his brain. 'Hello? Earth to Harry?'

'Oh!' Harry blinked in surprise. 'Sorry, it seems like I've been summoned by the headmaster.'

'Dumbledore?' she asked, her eyes suspicious. 'What have you done now?'

'Excuse me? Nothing, of course! We have barely been back a few hours, Tracey!' he answered indignantly.

'Are you going then?' Tracey asked in a worried tone.

'I think I will.' Seeing her expression, he added soothingly, 'Don't worry; Snape will be there. And besides, Dumbledore is nothing if not honourable. He'll never do anything to me as long as I'm a student here, especially as I'm not even of age.'

'You're taking a lot for granted,' she mumbled, clearly unconvinced.

Revealing a minuscule smile, Harry briefly patted her shoulder. 'Leave the manic distrustfulness to me. I have considerably more practice with it than you.'

When he'd reached the door to the dungeons, Tracey's pleading voice called out to him. 'Are you sure you won't reconsider your stance concerning all of us? We can help you, you know...?'

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Tracey displaying an unusually serious expression without any mask in place, her large golden doe eyes silently begging him to give in.

'Sorry,' he replied nonchalantly. 'Keep the other girls safe. Draco can watch out for himself, I'd wager. I'll take care of the Pillars.'

'Promise you'll be careful! Daphne will set the Gryffindor common room on fire if they really get you.'

'I'll be fine,' he repeated himself as he walked through the opening.

 _~BLHD~_

'Ah – Harry, please do come in.' Dumbledore smiled warmly and gestured for Harry to sit down.

Harry smoothly took a seat, quite curious as to what this meeting was about.

'I hope you don't mind if I address you as such? Even if you have taken on the name of your foster family, I cannot help but be reminded of Lily and James...'

Harry shrugged while inwardly carefully considering the question. 'I do not mind, either way, Headmaster.'

Dumbledore genially offered him some sweets, but Harry politely declined.

'You are not sour over the matter with your family – or rather families then, Harry? I was under the impression that you didn't want to be associated with your Potter heritage any longer.'

Harry was sure that Dumbledore _knew_ , but he didn't really begrudge him the question. He was certain that the headmaster had been close to the Potters. To him, the loss of the Potters had meant a decline in influence over the Ministry, something that had ultimately led to an estrangement of sorts – in addition to the grief of losing close confidants. But this was exactly the reason why the young Black was so wary.

Harry leaned back and casually straightened his robes. Just as he got ready to answer, there was a knock, and his Head of House entered. Snape looked harassed, but eventually, he rearranged his expression to cold indifference.

'Do excuse my lateness, Headmaster. There has been another…incident with the fifth years.' Looking towards Harry, he added the slightest of perceivable nods. 'Mr Black,' he said in a plain voice.

'Ah, Severus! No matter, we were just getting started. Though I am hesitant to bore you with such a small matter, I deemed it necessary to have you present as well.'

Snape nodded curtly.

 _Of course Snape needs to be present, considering Arcturus' and Dumbledore's history._

Harry made sure to adumbrate a bow towards Snape when he knew the man to be looking. 'Thank you for your time, Professor.'

His Head of House waved it off. 'Let's not waste our time with pleasantries, Mr Black.'

Dumbledore looked questioningly towards his potions master. 'If you would allow me to ask, Severus? Your exchange with Harry seems remarkably...blasé.'

For the shortest of moments, Snape seemed almost uncomfortable, but even Harry couldn't be sure. 'I…have had words with Lord Black on the matter. That man has assured me that there is no reason for me to dwell on past dealings. I am told he himself doesn't know.'

Harry blinked and could not hide his honest confusion. 'Is there something I should be aware of, sir?'

Dumbledore smiled warmly and winked. 'Don't mind us, Harry, just some old stories. I'm afraid one does tend to pick them up over the decades. Nothing to worry about, it seems.'

Eyes twinkling, the old warlock regarded him fondly. When he looked so grandfatherly and benign, it was easy to forget that he was, in European circles at least, considered to be the most powerful wizard of modern times.

'Let us talk about your holidays, Harry. I've heard your family held their traditional ball this year?'

Shooting the headmaster a questioning look, Harry nodded. 'Yes, sir, it was a very pleasant evening.'

'So I gathered,' Dumbledore replied in a friendly manner. 'What slightly concerns me, however, is that you seem to have spent considerable time with one of our teachers.'

 _Oh, so that's what this is all about?_ 'Professor Rose was an official guest of House Black, Headmaster. Respectfully, I believe what she does in her free time is none of your concern, sir?'

'Usually, that would be the case,' Dumbledore easily admitted. 'As long as her behaviour has no direct influence on her work or standing at school, it is certainly more difficult for me to intervene. But there has been,' he paused, wrinkling his eyebrows, 'some undignified tattle.'

'The headmaster is too polite to say that someone has spread the gossip that you and Rose share an illicit relationship, Black,' the Potions Master chipped in, leaning against the window and looking bored.

'WHAT?' Harry shouted in outrage, his face heating up.

'I see that this is news to you, Harry,' Dumbledore commented dryly, eyes twinkling again.

'Ridiculous! Of course that's news to me. I danced with her at the ball, and that's what people say?'

'Not entirely. A few people appear convinced that you are, in fact, betrothed to Professor Rose.'

Harry looked in shock at Dumbledore, wondering if he'd heard right. 'Engaged?'

'While I wish to reassure you that whatever happens outside of school is indeed no concern of ours, you will have to agree that I could hardly tolerate actions that overstep what one might consider healthy teacher-student relations, especially between an adult and a minor.'

'Professor Dumbledore? I am _not_ betrothed to Aenor Rose,' Harry said forcefully.

The headmaster's eyes bored searchingly into his own. 'Has she ever acted indecorously towards you?'

'No,' Harry replied with a calm he found strenuous.

'Has she ever forced or pressured you to do anything at all?' Dumbledore persisted.

'No!' Harry responded, more insistent in return.

'Would you be willing to swear before witnesses regarding this issue?'

'Yes, I would,' Harry answered coldly. 'I presume she's facing an inquiry in front of the Board of Governors then?'

'Quite so.' Dumbledore sighed. 'Though I don't expect any results, whatever the face of affairs. I hardly believe it necessary to elaborate...'

Relaxing in his highly decorated chair, the headmaster continued, 'While I always suspected that there would eventually be trouble for appointing so young a teacher, little did I expect this. You will be the object of envy for all the sixth and seventh year boys, I expect.' Dumbledore chuckled.

Harry, on the other hand, found the thought hardly appealing. 'I assume you questioned her as well, Professor?'

'Naturally. In short, she told me she received an official invitation to the Black Ball and spent a sociable evening in good company. Due to the nature of the allegations, you will see that I had to ask you some questions, though.'

 _Seems like Aenor didn't mention anything unnecessary then, thank Merlin. Things would get troublesome if people knew we have spent so much time completely alone at our mansion_...

'I hear Professor Flitwick is most impressed with you, Harry,' Dumbledore said unexpectedly. 'If the Hogwarts rumour mill doesn't fail me this time, I have to admit that an even partially physical _Shield Charm_ is an extremely notable achievement at your age, Harry.' He levelled a friendly gaze towards Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. 'Did you know that Lily was quite the prodigy at Charms, incidentally? Though I'm not sure if she could have kept up if Filius didn't exaggerate.'

Snape suddenly spun around and relieved Harry of the effort of coming up with an answer. 'Moving on to your situation at school, Black.'

Harry looked towards Dumbledore, who nodded in a demure fashion. 'Ah, yes. I am very sorry, Harry. You may not be aware, but we _have_ tried to ensure your safety. Teachers have been assigned to keep an eye on you. Poppy and Irma are both aware of the situation, of course, seeing as you spend so much time in their respective care. But we can only do so much. I'm sure you don't want us to follow you to the dormitories or assign guards to you.'

Harry actually snorted at that, getting slightly irritated. 'I have not been aware of your…attempts, Headmaster.' Remembering the dozens of times he had dragged his body to the infirmary, he couldn't help adding, 'Or of your concern.'

Dumbledore sighed deeply and pinched his nose. 'Please, Harry, do not believe that I wish for any of my students to be harassed in this manner. My personal contention with your grandfather doesn't have anything to do with this. We have tried in earnest to make your stay at Hogwarts as comfortable as possible. We even went as far as to approach certain figures in your own House, but...'

'The matter is more complicated than we had anticipated,' Snape smoothly interrupted.

 _They know something! So there really are some in Slytherin who are at the very least content with the situation. What exactly do they want me to say here? I can hardly keep shrugging my shoulders for the whole conversation..._

'Well, Professor, part of that is good to hear, I guess. I know this matter is a bit more than simple bullying, but-respectfully-I would like to solve that issue myself, sir. Especially since it is likely of concern to my family.' Harry tried his utmost to keep his voice casual, but it wasn't easy to keep the bitterness at bay. His mouth, Harry noted with slight surprise, rambled on before his brain could catch up. 'It wouldn't do to simply reprimand every spiteful comment and instruct the teachers to take points, anyway. You wouldn't want to escalate the matter by alienating the Ministry and your good friend Prewett.'

' _Professor_ Prewett, Harry.' Dumbledore sighed again, his large blue eyes fixed on something lying on his desk. 'You don't trust us, Harry?' he asked regretfully.

 _Oh, please! As if I could be guilt-tripped that easily._ 'I don't have much to say on the matter, Headmaster. Professor Snape has not acted in any way to make me especially mistrustful of him.'

Dumbledore looked tired all of a sudden. 'Somehow, that statement does not seem to encompass me, does it?'

Harry simply looked at him askance. 'Professor, your disputes with my family are the stuff of legends. Not only have you tried to hinder my grandfather's every political effort, you have also personally affronted him by helping Sirius leave the family. I'm sorry, but to me it would seem foolish to trust you just like that.'

Just as the old warlock opened his mouth, he hastily interjected, waving his hand in annoyance. 'I have got nothing against Sirius, Headmaster. But the point stands that you personally meddled in family business, something that is completely beyond your responsibilities.'

'So you share your grandfather's views then?' Dumbledore asked in a quiet voice of resignation.

'Most of them, certainly. And why not? Why should _we_ back down, Professor? Most students nowadays do not even know how to traditionally _greet_ a witch or wizard. Have you asked yourself how many people still know of the old solstice customs? Have you questioned yourself what part you play in this, Headmaster? Frivolously announcing Christmas, never even attempting to integrate the Muggle-borns? From my perspective, you are one of the chief suspects in this whole mess we find ourselves in. You may not wield the axe, but you stand alongside the deathsman, all the same.'

Dumbledore looked as if he had bitten into a lemon. Professor Snape's face-in a diligent effort-revealed nothing at all. 'I see. All I can say on the matter is that I have my reasons. I don't doubt that you and your grandfather both mean well, but the pressure has been overwhelming for decades at the very least. Why lead magical Britain into a conflict over traditions that most witches and wizards perceive as archaic? I cannot deny that I too feel a certain sorrow, but I don't deem it worth the risk of starting a confrontation.'

'To some of us, Headmaster, it is part of our identity. Curiously enough, in any muggle counterparts of our nations, you have to bow to the customs, languages, and quirks of your new host if you wish to immigrate. It actually is the law! How laughable that the only thing you would not wish the Muggles to share with us is their own insight.'

Dumbledore shot him a long, penetrating look that seemed to search beyond the surface. 'What would you do about the issue then, Mr Black?'

Harry averted his eyes with ostentation and looked towards Snape. The man indicated the door with a nod. 'If I believed my way of living systematically under attack, Headmaster,' Harry stood up and turned his back on Dumbledore, 'I would correct that deplorable circumstance by means that prove effective.' Leaving the missing word dangerously hanging in the air, Harry exited the office without looking back.

 _~BLHD~_

Harry and his Head of House descended the stairs in silence. Harry would have felt better kicking the gargoyles that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office, but resisted the childish urge to injure his bones.

'I still have business to attend to,' Professor Snape said when the passage had completely sealed itself again. 'I trust you can make your way to the Great Hall without me holding your hand, Black?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry replied grumpily, betokening a light bow.

'One last thing, Black. The headmaster may be the indulgent and forgiving kind, but it will generally serve you no purpose to anger people in positions to make your life difficult.'

Swallowing his first response, Harry bowed more politely this time. 'You are right, of course, sir. I realise that my temper is something I have to work on.'

Professor Snape's lips curled in an unfriendly manner. 'Well, let us hope the inner Black in you will triumph eventually.' Leaving him with those cryptic words to consider, Snape strode away, robes billowing behind him.

Looking back, Harry couldn't completely deny that he'd been rather hard on the headmaster, who might even have expressed genuine concern for his situation. He should've tried to deal with Dumbledore based on their own, personal (meaning fresh and unladen) relationship, as long as no family business was involved. Harry was sure that his grandfather wouldn't be impressed when he learned that he had lost his temper over something that didn't concern him personally, as the young Black had been warned time and again that politeness is the proper way to face even your enemies in public.

Sighing, he turned around...and froze, eyes bulging.

Leaning against the wall of the corridor that led to the Great Hall was Tracey, her whole body covered with wounds and blood, her left arm hanging lifelessly and stiffly at her side. 'Harry...Thank God, there you are,' she called weakly. Her left calf seemed to have suffered some wound from a sharp object or _Cutting Curse_. Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen and pale blue.

'TRACEY!' he shouted in alarm, rushing towards her. 'What in the blazes happened to you?! We need to get Pomfrey!'

'No, Harry...Daphne...' Her voice was unusually wispy, trembling even.

Ignoring the shiver running down his spine, Harry drew his wand. 'Where is she?'

'A bit further down the corridor, please...Couldn't get all of them.' She turned around and hobbled at considerable speed towards a dark corridor.

Harry followed silently, rage building behind his eyes. 'Who was it? What happened?'

She limped around a corner, and it took her a while to answer. '...Don't know. They just suddenly jumped us...told us to spill. I-I think they're other Slytherins.'

'Did you recognise any of them?' Harry demanded, grinding his teeth as he continued to grip his wand tightly.

Shaking her head, she led him on. 'C-come quickly, Harry.'

They traversed many fairly empty corridors, nearing a part of the fourth floor that was mostly abandoned. Getting impatient, Harry shouted after Tracey, who had quickened her pace even more, 'How much farther is it?'

'Not far, Harry,' she murmured, vanishing into another corridor. 'Greengrass is just here around the corner.'

Sprinting around the corner with rewound vigour, Harry's heart suddenly missed a beat. _Greengrass?_

Throwing his body to the ground on a hunch, he felt something pass over his hair. Harry flicked his wand and thought with all his might, ' _Protego!'_

Something collided with his _Shield Charm_ , and lifting his head, Harry could make out several obscure figures that clung to the shadows. All of them had their wands drawn.

'God, you're such a wanker, messing up like that,' one of them called out disgustedly.

'I-I panicked, the potion was failing already. How could I have known he was strolling around the headmaster's office?!' Another unknown voice shot back at the first.

'Cut the crap! What are we supposed to do know? That shield's trouble!'

Harry's eyes widened, trying to keep track of the speakers. He didn't recognise a single voice, and his head started spinning, though he wasn't exactly sure why that was the case. He surely hadn't burnt out from just a bit of running?

'All of you, attack the shield from all angles with force,' the first voice commanded.

More than half a dozen curses collided with his shield all at once, throwing him forcefully into the cold stone wall, though his shield held strong – for now. _Merlin, they're using Blasting Curses! It's over if they get through!_ Withstanding the incoming spells with all his might, Aenor's voice suddenly popped into his mind: ' _I would like to stress the point that shields are a good defensive tool but do only have a small place in real duelling. Being able to cast a second spell while holding your shield in place requires such prodigious skill that it may be more accurate to label it an innate talent..._ '

Laughing hysterically under the unending flashes of light, shouts and the burst of adrenaline, Harry acknowledged the point his tutor had made in their first ever Defence lesson. _Guess it's time for a gamble._

Waiting for the slightest window of opportunity, Harry threw himself to the side, ceased to feed his shield, threw his left hand before his eyes and flicked his wand sideways twice. Not a second later, his wand erupted in a blinding flash of light of such ferocity that he saw the backsides of his eyelids flare up red despite the protective measure. At the same time as he heard the pained cries of several people all around him, he felt himself get lifted off his feet and hurled across the room with an enormous accompanying bang, colliding painfully with a door at his back, the handle drilling agonisingly into his flesh. Coughing and fighting for air, he crouched down, holding his shattered ribs. He had trouble standing up or maintaining any semblance of balance. His head's sole purpose seemed to be restricted to tormenting Harry as thoroughly as possible, layering red, black and white dots over his vision, crushing his concentration with a screeching sound that went on and on. _Eardrums ruptured, heavy concussion_ , were the thoughts that eventually formed in his mind.

Willing his eyes to remain open, he could make out several people lying on the ground, crying in pain. Some were clawing at their eyes, others retching on the floor. One person was left standing, though he too was leaning against a wall, eyes closed.

Harry observed the scene in a rather detached manner, only registering what he saw many seconds later. _Oh, Merlin! I need to_ do _something_ , _anything!_ Miraculously, he still had his wand in his hand, but his shoulder seemed to be dislocated or broken, as he discovered when a new, hot streak of pain ran through his body when he tried to lift the implement of his magic. _Great, so no way to direct my magic?_ Disgusted, he looked down at his wand that was, after all his efforts, now ironically pointing at himself. _Oh, arm's broken, too_ , he dimly remarked to himself.

Keeping his eyes open was taking up more and more of his concentration. _Damn body; keep going, you stupid adrenal glands!_ Trying not to succumb to the doziness, Harry desperately thought about any spell that could salvage the situation. _All offensive spells are out, not my forte anyway. Shielding myself again won't help me, it'll just prolong my suffering. Hiding, silencing, shrouding won't help either. Those spells will fade when I lose consciousness which, SWEET MORGANA MY HEAD, doesn't seem too far off._

The figure that leaned against the wall opened its homicidally red eyes, glaring at Harry through concealed features. A few others had also stopped throwing up, and one or two were slowly crawling towards the nearest wall. Frantically thinking back on the spells he'd recently studied, Harry's heart quickened even further. _Cheering Charm? Tempting but useless. Engorgement Charm? Just what I need, larger limbs to ache probably equals more pain. Summoning? Banishing? Aguamenti? No, no...NO!_

The person opposite Harry made a very deliberate movement to pick up his wand that had fallen to the ground. As of now, he was fumbling around several feet away from its real location but...

 _Come on, Harry. You can't tell me there's nothing! You even got the stupid_ Patronus _down after two weeks_. _There has to be something to call for he...wait!_

Staring blankly at his wand for a few precious moments, Harry closed his eyes and-with monumental effort-recalled the time when he had first seen his newfound family. It was hard to rid his mind of the pain that surged through his limbs, but the memory of them standing among the ruins, wands in their hands, looking heroically battered but so very determined was among those that were always at the front of his mind. Sirius and Regulus had been with Arcturus back then, though that had not been the case for very long, of course, he remembered with a dull echo of grief. Still, they had taken him in. Him, Harry; alone, betrayed, betrayer and pawn of fate that he was. Arguably their political enemy, they had rescued him, nourished him, given him a place to stay and find peace. A home without pressure, without dependency and with no strings attached...

Reminding Arcturus telling him in a stirred voice full of pride that he had officially declared Harry his heir, Harry opened his moist eyes and, drawing upon the love and gratitude he felt for those he held dearest, he furiously shouted the words that he bet his rescue on...

 _~BLHD~_

Hermione moodily stabbed at the food in front of her, all the enthusiasm she had had for classes to resume seemingly leached out of her. While most in Slytherin were looking disturbed or at least concerned by the news of Harry being found half-dead in an empty corridor that, so the story claimed, did resemble nothing short of a war-zone, some students were buzzing with excited chatter. The Ravenclaws and most of the Hufflepuffs seemed to have the decency to at least _pretend_ to be shocked at that casual display of cruel vindictiveness, whereas some of the Puffs and most of Gryffindor house seemed to regard the matter as a joke that was- _maybe_ -slightly overdone. A few even seemed to be thankful that the school was now much safer without the notorious scion of the Blacks, at least for the time being. Some redhead over at the Gryffindor table was laughing loudly at something presumably hilarious that had to do with stomping on a person lying on the ground.

Feeling ill all of a sudden, Hermione shoved the plate away from her and cast a disdainful gaze towards the table at the front. Most teachers were looking very grave, especially Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. Her Head of House seemed oddly indifferent. Once or twice, she caught him looking towards the door, and it seemed to Hermione that he was just barely suppressing a smirk. Even more incomprehensibly, Professor Rose looked almost eager. Hermione silently cursed the situation she found herself in. Her friend was in the infirmary, or maybe St Mungo's by now, and she'd only heard of it by chance, just when she had finally decided to resolve the mess she had helped create. After a great deal of pondering her situation at Hogwarts during the holidays, her parents (when she had finally gathered the courage to confide in them and told them of her estrangement with Harry) had encouraged her to try and talk it out with her friend directly. Even if, so they said, she had inadvertently hurt him, the situation would never improve without her working on it. But nobody was allowed to visit Harry apparently, though that certainly hadn't deterred Greengrass from sprinting off in an insane rush, dragging Tracey along the way. Draco was sitting a few places down the table, pale and without any of his usual easy-going attitude, completely ignoring his little gang around him.

Suddenly, a loud bang disrupted Hermione's train of thought. She couldn't help herself and thought of bombs, fully aware how ridiculous that assumption was. The general chatter didn't ebb, of course. Loud noises were all too common at Hogwarts, after all; Peeves–for instance–being a chief proponent of spontaneous chaos. Hermione looked questioningly towards the head-table where, to her surprise, all the teachers had stopped eating. Professor Prewett seemed to be hesitantly reaching for his wand.

Another acoustic shock rang through the hall, this time loud enough to rattle the windows. A few people squealed and looked worriedly towards the windows or the great oaken portal that led to the Great Hall.

With a sense of foreboding, Hermione covered her ears with her hands and ducked. This turned out to be a smart decision, as the third explosion blasted the massive 18-foot tall gate off its hinges, spraying splinters across half the hall.

Hermione gasped and turned to look at the wreck, along with hundreds of fearful faces. The silence was so complete that she could hear the low breathing of her immediate neighbours, which is why she heard the footsteps long before she could make anything out in the swirling dust...

A lone figure strode through the wreckage. With a barely perceivable flick of a wand, it batted the remains of the once great door (that Hermione estimated to easily weigh a ton or two) to the sides of the hall as if they were flies caught in the wake of a devil. The silent assailant slowly strode down the aisle in the middle, seemingly oblivious to the hundreds of terrified stares. Hermione shuddered at the sound of the debris _crunching_ under the measured stride of this mysterious stranger...

As the dust steadily settled, she started making out the outlines of a rather small person. Clad in impeccable robes of flowing velvet, there stood a wizard with shrunken features who didn't seem much younger than Dumbledore himself. Yet, even so, not completely unlike their headmaster, a feeling of gravitas coated this old man.

'Good evening, Headmaster,' the refined voice called out almost politely, yet the repressed anger was palpable; it permeated the ear like barely contained deadly radiation, waiting to break free and devour them whole. 'I am so very sorry to interrupt dinner, but I would like to have a short word in your office. Right this instant...'

'You don't own this castle! You don't get to make any demands here!' Professor Prewett shouted from his seat. Even though he was obviously seething with rage, Prewett's aura almost faded into the background as the lone old man slowly turned his head towards him.

'Be silent, you fool!' whispered the old one dangerously. Hermione had the urge to lean in and be closer to the man, but she doubted that the student sitting closest to the door had any trouble listening to his every word. His voice was…mesmerising.

Their History of Magic instructor, however, didn't seem to take being called to silence lightly. With a look of pure hatred, he raised his wand toward the figure beneath him...

Both men slashed their wands simultaneously, to the shocked outcries of several people. In barely one second, half a dozen spells sprang from the tip of both wands. Hermione could hardly keep her eyes from popping out of her skull; she couldn't identify a single spell being used, though their teacher seemed to favour transfiguration, while the unknown assailant used strangely blurred spells that filled the air with something like electricity, making her hair even more unruly. Just as a red volley of sizzling spells impacted an invisible barrier in front of Professor Prewett, the stranger made a sudden sweeping gesture with his empty left hand.

To Hermione's and every other student's utter astonishment, their teacher was immediately lifted off his feet and smashed into the wall fifteen yards from where he had stood.

Panic ensued almost instantly. Several students started screaming, a few even fumbled for their wands. Hermione just could not help but gape at the crumpled figure of her history teacher, who was vaunted throughout Britain for his prowess in magical combat.

The fourth bang that rang through the hall that evening was so loud that it stunned most people left standing. Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet, his own wand visible for all to see. 'Prefects, accompany your respective houses to your common rooms! You may continue your dinner therein.'

Finally turning towards the newcomer, he gave a courteous if stiff little bow, indicated the door behind the teacher's table and said in a strained voice, 'After you, Lord Black.'


	17. HD: Approach, Slytherin-style

**Approach, Slytherin-style**

* * *

For once, Hermione did not pay any attention to the book in front of her, and she knew she wasn't the only one by a long shot. A strange mood had befallen the castle. Lord Black's appearance earlier this week had been like an icy chill that just would not lift. Many a Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were looking peaky, pale or downright frightful these days, and hushed conversations were somewhat commonplace, though Hermione dearly wished that her classmates would at least refrain from abusing the library.

'Are you really sure I'll be fine, Nev?' one of the Hufflepuffs in a near corridor whispered not quietly enough, fear dripping from every syllable.

Hermione huffed indignantly. _The nerve of these people! First, they continue to harass Harry for weeks and weeks, or at the very least stand idly by, and now their only worry is for their own precious safety? You've made your bed_...

'Have you ever actually done anything to him, Justin?' Longbottom reasoned exasperatedly.

'No, of course not! But, like I told you, we were in his compartment and he got really menacing and...'

Hermione tried to will her concentration back onto the essay in her hands. But, to her dismay, a few new voices joined in on the muttered conversation only a short while later, rendering her effort wasted.

'You weren't there, Seamus. That old gramps really was scary!' insisted one of the new participants.

'That was Lord Black, Dean.' Hermione could almost hear Longbottom roll his eyes. 'That's someone you don't want to mess with.'

'You scared or what, Longbottom? Some Gryffindor you are!' Hermione inadvertently sat up straight in her chair. The last voice belonged to someone she definitely had not expected to converse with Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.

'What do you want, Malfoy?' Longbottom called out with a hint of annoyance.

'Why, gloating of course! Look at you all: for months you pile your abuse on Black, even though you, Longbottom, at least should've known better. And now you frantically flap your hands like little girls, afraid of what you've done. If you don't want to get stung, don't rattle the curtains!' said Draco smugly.

'Bet you loved Lord Black's entrance, didn't you?' Longbottom retorted coldly.

'Oh, yeah, I did. You've got to admit it was pretty awesome,' Malfoy shot back, clearly fighting down a laugh. 'And even better than enjoying Prewett getting taken down a notch, now I can savour you all shivering at the thought of the Blacks coming after you as a bonus. It's hilarious!'

Draco was still laughing when he left Longbottom to his flock. Hermione, meanwhile, was mulling over their bickering, so deep in thought that she didn't notice her house-mate approach until his steps had taken him straight to her little corner where she sat, practically surrounded by small heaps of books on all corners. She expected him to frown, to scowl or sneer maybe; the possibility of being ignored altogether was there, too. What she did not expect, however, was the shrewd expression that flickered across his face for a second when he looked at her.

Hermione hastily collected her reading material and sorted it as carefully as time allowed into her book-bag. Without trying to catch up to Draco, she made to follow him, as the both of them had another Transfiguration lesson in about fifteen minutes, and she had no intention of seeming to appear together with the Gryffindors.

Hermione selected a seat in the front row and settled down. Not five minutes later, even the laggards had, under the reproving glare of Professor McGonagall, finally scurried through the door.

'A good day to you all. Since it has been some time now since you have made use of your knowledge in class, we'll be reviewing your expertise first. Maybe later this week, we can make a first attempt at transfiguring something new. You'll hand in your homework after class, so now you all better get...'

The Gryffindor Head of House was interrupted, quite rudely Hermione thought, when Greengrass slouched into the classroom, sporting a truly singular expression somewhere between depression and anger. 'Miss Greengrass!' The mouth of her favourite teacher was a very thin line by now; to Hermione, this was a clear sign of her displeasure.

Shrugging apathetically, the girl took a seat near Tracey, just one row behind Hermione. 'Hello, Professor. Sorry, I'm late, Professor. I'll do better next time, Professor,' Greengrass returned lifelessly.

Hermione winced, as did half the class. It was no secret that neither Greengrass nor McGonagall were particularly fond of one another, but the young witch had clearly crossed a line.

'That will be detention, Miss Greengrass. Well? Mr Thomas, please hand out the matches and we'll start with something easy. Surely, I need not remind you all that we are on a very tight schedule.'

Hermione took the needle the Gryffindor offered her, keen on trying her hand again, but she need not have worried: on her first try, she turned the wooden matchstick into a perfectly metallic needle. With a small satisfied smile, Hermione looked around the classroom. Some were having difficulties, either because they hadn't practised or, in the case of Draco and Tracey, because they were goofing around, pretending to accidentally aim at the legs of other people's chairs. Others, she noted, were misusing the class to continue their private conversations.

'Have you ever been there, then, Nev?' Finnigan asked excitedly.

'Oh, yeah, I have. Several times, actually,' Longbottom answered in a low voice.

'How was it? Is it true nobody knows where the Blacks live?' another eager Gryffindor demanded.

'It's true, I guess. If you get an invitation, you just get a date and a portkey - that's it.'

'But why don't people just make a break for it when they're at the ball or something?' threw in Thomas.

A girl one row behind them broke out in shrill laughter. 'You don't wanna do that, Dean. I've been there once myself, and I could feel the wards all around me when we travelled there. And I was only ten at the time.'

'Wow, you were at the Black Ball once, Parvati? But isn't that like, I don't know, a bit creepy? I mean you describe it like it's some kind of giant deathtrap.' Finnigan's voice was laden with trepidation.

'Only if you're stupid enough to poke around, Seamus. The occasion is quite exclusive, so I don't think that happens all too often.'

'It's quite dreamy, actually. A bit like those old-style romance films...' Parvati sighed wistfully.

'Did Black really dance with Professor Rose, Nev?'

 _What?_ Hermione was stumped. This was the first time she'd heard anything like that. The stretching silence surrounding Longbottom indicated that she wasn't the only one interested.

The Gryffindor boy chuckled nervously. 'Uh, yeah, they did. The whole evening, in fact.'

'What? Really? How scandalous!' Parvati giggled excitedly.

'Wow! Who would've guessed? I mean, he always seems so reclusive,' the Brown girl joined in.

'You've got to be kidding me!' Finnigan opined. 'Why him? And not Professor Rose! Are you really, really sure, Nev?'

'Sorry, mate! It was hard not to notice, to be honest,' Longbottom returned in an apologetic tone.

'You're crushing my dreams, man. What's he got that I don't have?' whined Finnigan.

'Not sure. You mean besides the mountains of gold or the talent?' Parvati laughed good-naturedly. 'I've heard Flitwick's jokes about giving him an OWL test at the end of the year. I don't think he's serious, but it's not all talk either, you know.'

Finnigan broke down on his desk in dramatic fashion. 'You guys are killing me. But seriously, why's he so good at Charms?'

'Oh, not interested in hearing any more about Rose and Black, Seamus?' jeered Brown, teaming up with her friend.

'I wouldn't read too much into it. No, honestly!' Longbottom added when he spotted the doubting looks of his audience. 'Look, I don't know Black much better than you guys. But I don't get the impression that he's the kind of guy to chat up women. It could be something political, so don't worry about it.'

'Oh, right,' Thomas responded sarcastically, 'because something political between the Blacks and Rose is no cause for concern at all.'

 _~BLHD~_

The talk of the allegedly shared dances between Harry and Professor Rose was resounding throughout all of Hogwarts by lunch, much to Hermione's chagrin. Apparently, only half a dozen students had been at the Black Ball, so the news hadn't passed through the houses until now. It wasn't even that important, really. Sure, it was a bit strange to share more than a polite dance (if even that) with a teacher, but people seemed to consider the reputed breach of good morals of much more importance than the brutal attack that had landed Harry in the hospital wing for his longest stay to date. There was definitely much jealousy at play, and-in private-Hermione thought that this jealousy might even have been a contributing factor to the incredibly brutal assault on her estranged friend.

So it was with a mixed mood that she had made her way to the Defence classroom and took her seat among the Slytherins, but the class progressed as if nothing had happened at all. Though the atmosphere was decidedly awkward at the start, mostly due to the expectations many Hufflepuffs held, Professor Rose conducted the lesson in a very business-like fashion, much to Hermione's relief. Learning to counter popular jinxes was, without a doubt, time better spent than chatting about other people's lives. Class soon ended without any drama unfolding, but it was all too good to be true, Hermione soon realised.

'I'll sneak down again later, I don't care what you say!' Greengrass whispered not very quietly at all, but with a touch of anger. It remained mysterious to Hermione how someone could speak at a normal volume while definitely whispering...kind of.

'Keep your voice down, Daphne!' Tracey looked around suspiciously. Spotting Hermione's curious glance, she shrugged apologetically and smiled in a helpless manner.

'Slinking off to visit your friend, are you, Greengrass?' Macmillan's voice was disapproving. 'And here I thought you knew better than to associate with the likes of Black...'

'Keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you!' Greengrass shot back coldly.

'Don't get me wrong, Greengrass. I hardly think it's sporting to lurk in a corridor and ambush someone with Merlin knows how many people. I wonder why Dumbledore doesn't do something. It's no wonder Lord Black is furious, but-on the other hand-maybe our headmaster has decided that Black is a lost cause...? He's hardly innocent in the whole affair, in my opinion.'

'And how exactly do you figure that he is not the victim here, Macmillan?' Greengrass' eyes had narrowed so much that her usually refined features were looking positively snake-like. And ready to bite the Hufflepuff's head off, no doubt.

'Uhm, shouldn't we be heading to the next class?' Hermione tried to diffuse the situation.

Tracey nodded eagerly. 'Oh, yes! It's gotten rather late, hasn't it? Let's go, Daphy!'

'Oh, no, not so fast!' Greengrass stood unblinkingly and rooted to the spot, oblivious to Tracey's subtle tugging. 'I want to hear this, and it better be good...'

Macmillan gulped heavily. He seemed to have realised that his immediate bodily well-being was on the line. 'See here, Greengrass. I mean no offence! It's just that he's been stirring up a lot of trouble, right? Provoking Hannah and Susan like that was totally unnecessary, and Leanne is terrified of him. And I'm not even speaking of John; he's only just come back from St Mungo's, you know.'

'What are you talking about? Bones and Abott were trying to humiliate him first, and if you guys would just leave him alone, you probably wouldn't even notice him. I mean, he practically sleeps in the library!'

'Maybe he should sleep in his own library then. The Blacks do have a family library, don't they? What's he come to Hogwarts for? If he just left, everything would be fine!' intruded Bones hotly. She and her friend had apparently passed by on their way out of the classroom.

'You shouldn't say that!' Hermione shouted, surprised by her own temerity. 'If you could all just leave your stupid politics at home, there wouldn't even be an issue!'

Greengrass and Bones both looked at her, taken aback by her unusual outburst. But just then, Professor Rose emerged from within the depths of the room. 'Maybe you all should trot along before you get in trouble.' She peered from Bones to Macmillan and then to Greengrass and Hermione.

'Let's go, Daphy!' Tracey tugged at her best friend's sleeve again. In a slightly lower tone she added, 'I don't wanna be chewed out again...'

Hermione hung back a bit to sort the books in her backpack in an orderly fashion, even as the rest of the Slytherins departed, same as Abott and Macmillan. Bones had apparently forgotten something at her desk. Just as Hermione swung the bag over her shoulders, Professor Rose called out to the Hufflepuff one more time. 'Oh, before I forget, could I have a short word with you, Miss Bones? You may go on, Miss Granger.'

 _~BLHD~_

Hogwarts was still abuzz with chatter by dinner, but now there was also a new bit of gossip about Susan Bones, who had shut herself in the toilet, crying for nearly four hours straight. All the Hufflepuff first years were surrounding Abott, who apparently didn't know what was going on any better. Nervously, Hermione glanced from the girl to the Hufflepuff hourglass and finally to Professor Rose, who ate gracefully at the head table, the pretty picture of innocence. For some mysterious (and, surely, unrelated) reason, there seemed to be at least 200 house-points missing. The turmoil about Bones had, for the moment, prevented the Puffs from noticing that about half of their points had vanished in the space of a few hours, or maybe, Hermione mused, a few seconds.

 _Maybe the story about her dancing with Harry all night isn't as far-fetched as I thought..._

Just when she was looking from the hourglass to Professor Rose again, the young teacher winked conspiratorially at her and subtly brought her index finger to her lips. Hermione gaped nonplussed at her Defence instructor until she finally pulled herself together and averted her gaze.

The Hufflepuffs prematurely forfeiting the House Cup was a popular topic later in the Slytherin common room. Many of the older students in particular were excited at the prospect of a dark horse winning the cup. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had, after all, won the last two dozen cups between them, their streaks only broken very occasionally by the odd Ravenclaw win. It was so bad that nobody even remembered when Slytherin had last won. Even though it was impossible to keep anything secret at Hogwarts, Hermione couldn't help but notice that nobody seemed to connect the spontaneous loss of points with Susan Bones or Professor Rose.

Nearly dozing off after a hard day of work and worries, Hermione half-heartedly observed Draco and his little gang: Blaise Zabini and Draco seemed to get on particularly well nowadays. Parkinson and the younger Shafiq were usually hanging out with them, too, whereas the rest of the first year Slytherins normally kept to themselves. Hermione didn't have anything in particular against Blaise, who could be a bit haughty but was quite friendly to her, if a bit distant maybe. Shafiq and Parkinson were rather snobbish and had no doubt _views_ about a Muggle-born in Slytherin, but they treated Hermione fairly well all the same. Sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder if somebody had arranged it for her to be relatively pleasant in the common room.

Hermione jerked up, blinking furiously. Maybe she had better head to bed after all and finish her research in the morning. Currently, she was studying the Black family, though she wasn't sure if that was a faux pas in itself. But how else was she going to get the information if not by herself? So far she had found out that seven of the last twelve Ministers for Magic had been either Blacks or very closely connected to them, which would certainly explain why the family was so well-off. Carefully stacking her books and the parchment, an unfamiliar note fell from the cover of _Nature's Nobility_.

' _Come to the first room of the right corridor, seventh floor half an hour before curfew if you really find the current situation regarding Harry Black to be unbearable. Don't tell anybody. Arrive alone._ '

Immediately, Hermione scrutinised the room around her, but the scene hadn't changed at all. A few groups were sitting widely scattered around the room, keeping to themselves. She looked back down at the parchment. The handwriting was narrow, curly and very even, giving an impression of great sophistication and tedious hours of training.

Thinking furiously for a while, Hermione bit her lower lip. Then, she grabbed her bag and went to the girl's dormitory, where she soon found Tracey babbling animatedly to Greengrass.

'Do you have a moment, Tracey? I'm sorry to interrupt but...' Nervously eyeing Greengrass, her voice faltered.

'Yeah, sure. I'll be right back, Daphy!' Tracey jumped to her feet, smiled at her and indicated for her to leave the room. Hermione rather thought she heard Greengrass click her tongue impatiently. When they were out of earshot, Tracey leaned against the corridor and inclined her head. 'So? What's up?'

'Oh, right. I, uh, got this mysterious note that says I should go somewhere alone tonight, but, to be honest, I don't think that's a terribly intelligent idea. I'll be heading to the seventh corridor, first door on the right, so if I'm not back half an hour after curfew...you know.'

Tracey's eyes widened comically. 'Are you sure this is a very bright idea, Honey?'

Hermione bit her lip again. 'No, it's not. It's not sensible at all. But I can't just ignore it either...'

'There's no need to look so serious!' Tracey saluted cutely with the wand in her hand. 'If you're late, I'll barge right in and come to your rescue. I think I have a white mantle in my trunk, but someone else will have to play the part of the stallion.'

Hermione smiled gratefully. 'Thanks, Tracey.'

The small girl grinned back impishly. 'No problem. I'll be in the vicinity, just let me finish my talk with Daphy.'

 _~BLHD~_

 _This is a bad idea, Hermione! This is an absolutely terrible idea!_ But even though Hermione could not keep these thoughts from popping up warningly time and again, her feet brought her ever closer to the dreaded seventh corridor, her steps echoing ominously through the empty castle.

 _What kind of sensible person would come alone to a meeting with a stranger of dubious intentions in the dead of the night? No sensible person at all, that's for sure. And no Slytherin either, now that I think about it. Well, at least I told someone._

Shivering slightly (Hermione insisted on attributing this to the draught that stalked these ancient halls), she approached the last set of stairs to the seventh corridor. It wasn't so unusual to not encounter any students or teachers on her way through the castle, or that no prefect paid attention to her leaving shortly before curfew, or that not a sound could be heard the entire way up here, but everything in conjunction left Hermione slightly haunted. So much in fact, that she'd even have welcomed the sight of the Bloody Baron, a figure she was sure to give a wide berth on normal (and, she told herself again, _sensible_ ) days.

Hermione hesitated for short while, then hid her wand in her ridiculously long sleeve like she had seen Harry do at times, and walked around the corner. The door to the mentioned first room on the right corridor stood slightly ajar. Gathering her remaining courage, Hermione carefully pushed the door completely open...

The room was empty, but the rustling of clothes just behind her soon explained this discovery. 'Get in!' The male voice sounded familiar, though Hermione failed to instantly place it, mostly due to the frantic beating of her heart. Regretfully crossing the threshold, furious at being outwitted so easily, Hermione walked towards the middle of the room, half expecting the feeling of a wooden tip in her back, but to her great surprise, the person behind her softly closed the door and walked by her, wand in his hand.

Her mysterious assailant had sleek and shiny, perfectly groomed white-blond hair, casual elegance that very few people held so naturally, an incredible amount of self-assurance bordering on arrogance, the hint of superior knowledge in his grey eyes, and an ever persistent smirk on his lips: It was Draco Malfoy.

'So it _was_ you,' Hermione mumbled softly.

Draco looked up, mildly surprised but clearly dismissive, his eyes glinting evilly. 'Oh? Figured that out, did you, filthy Mudblood know-it-all.'

Hermione trembled slightly but tightened her grip around her hidden wand all the same. 'Well, it was a bit suspicious how often you were in my vicinity today. Not to mention your strange look in the library. What does "Mudblood" mean, incidentally?'

Draco howled with laughter. 'What? Are you kidding me, Granger? You still don't know? For real? "Mudbloods" are those that dirty the old and honoured family lines and traditions of the wizarding world by their unworthy, usurping blood, of course. So that's you, you bushy skunk. If it was up to me, I'd kick you out of Slytherin myself, but I really don't want to dirty my boots.'

Hermione sniffed a bit, doing her best to hold in tears. _Why has he called me out here if he just wants to make me miserable?_ 'What do you want, Draco?' she called out more bravely than she felt, her voice quivering all the same.

Draco wordlessly pointed his wand at her, and Hermione stiffened, holding her breath, awaiting the curse that was sure to come any second now...but nothing happened. 'Lie to me,' Draco ordered her, to Hermione's complete confusion.

'W-what?' she answered feebly.

'I said "lie to me", you wretched bookworm. Or aren't you capable of following simple orders?' he sneered at her like she was something under the floorboards.

'I...but...' Hermione stumbled for words before she gathered her wits. 'I-I ran into Professor Snape on my way here. He knows I'm here!' She tried, once again, to sound confident, and indeed her voice held miraculously steady, or so she thought.

Draco snarled, looking unimpressed. 'Pathetic, Granger! I know all the teachers have a meeting with the headmaster tonight, and I followed you all the way here, as you should have worked out by now. One last try, make a convincing lie, you stupid little girl!' He lifted his wand further so that it now pointed directly at her face.

 _Stupid little girl?_ Hermione repeated angrily in her head, blushing subtly. _Who does he think he is? What kind of game is he playing?_ Biting her lip, her mind automatically replayed the information she had last studied about. 'The first Cygnus Black embezzled funds from the Wizengamot Administration Service to hide his secret addiction to Muggle horse-races from his family.'

Draco looked stunned for a moment, but then his brow began to furrow. 'I call bullshit,' he said eventually.

'Actually, it's possibly true,' Hermione lectured on the topic in her classroom-voice out of paradoxical relief. 'The author in _Nature's Nobility_ makes a point of theorising how this could have led to the now extinct line of Blackthaws that officially split from the Blacks at the time. It was a major scandal, of course, and...'

'All right, all right, I get it.' Malfoy held up his other hand to stem the tide of information that gushed from Hermione's mouth. 'But that wasn't a lie, was it? If even the author didn't know it, we can't ascertain the truth of it. And besides, you just recited something you read in a book!'

'Well, yes,' Hermione replied with her own satisfied little smile. 'But you told me to lie and didn't realise that my "lie" was in fact just information. So you fail all the same, since I wasn't truthful about that fact that I lied.'

Draco frowned, clearly thinking it through carefully. But a second later, he suddenly broke into laughter, lowered his wand and relaxed visibly. The strange enmity that had shone from his pose and facial expression was gone entirely as if blown away by wind. 'Not bad, Granger! I suppose it's my defeat.'

Rocking with mad laughter, Malfoy sat down on an old desk, stowed his wand and indicated for her to take a seat as well. Hermione, needless to say, was completely stumped again.

'Come on, we don't have all night, Granger. Take a seat, I won't bite,' he said, the mirth visible in his eyes.

'But...but...' Suddenly, her eyes narrowed in understanding. 'You tested me,' she accused him, pointing her finger. 'There was no need for that language with me!'

'Yeah, I tested you. You even passed, somewhat. And I thought you'd gotten used to a bit of insulting after Greengrass' tirade? That one's very big on foul language, as I'm sure you've come to know,' he returned in a relaxed manner.

'But...to what end?' Hermione finally took a seat, ashamed of her own foolishness and angry at Malfoy's little game.

'To see if you're a hopeless case, or not,' Draco said matter-of-factly. 'To see if you can face pressure in a situation where you are clearly handicapped. To ascertain that you do not lose your temper just because someone is spewing a lot of malicious nonsense to your face. To test if you've got any sense and don't come to a dangerous meeting without telling anybody, even though you were ordered to come alone. To check if you are still practical enough to at least have a wand on your hand. You can put it away now, by the way.'

Hermione looked confused for a second, but then it dawned on her that she was still clutching her wand in a death-grip. She had completely forgotten about it half-way through the ordeal but vowed right then and there to never tell Draco so. 'So you knew about Tracey?' she asked weakly, feeling a bit resentful for having been dancing in his palm all along.

'Oh, yeah, sure. I told her beforehand, even. You don't exactly have many friends in Slytherin, so it was an easy guess. Which brings us to the main part of this evening.' His expression became serious all of a sudden, and he sat up straight, gazing intently into her eyes. 'If you want in on this, you'll do exactly what I say; you'll ask no questions; and you won't tell anyone that you're working with me.'

'What? I'm not your subordinate, Draco!' she called out in high dudgeon. 'Why do you need me anyway if I'm just your lackey?'

'Not lackey, Granger: Spy!' he called out triumphantly. 'People won't expect me to cooperate with you, people know you to be shunned by practically everyone, and they may let their guard down with someone they are sure poses no threat.'

'Spy?' she asked, feeling the situation outgrow her more and more.

'Exactly!' he responded with a smirk that was confident of victory. 'It's brilliant! Other people may even see you as an easy tool to use to get to Harry as it is somewhat common knowledge that you were friendly, so they may even approach you on their own, or already have, for all we know.'

'So whom am I supposed to spy on, then?' Hermione asked carefully.

'Mostly Slytherins, I expect. When I'm not clear on what to do with you, you'll help me go through some minor non-school-related paperwork.'

 _Well_ , Hermione thought bitterly, _I guess being the female lead in a spy movie was too much to ask for, so I have to act as a secretary in my off-time to appease the gender image._ 'And what are we doing this for, then. Should I happen to agree, that is.'

Draco looked completely puzzled as if she'd asked the stupidest question yet. 'To help Harry, of course.'

'B-but...' Hermione's voice faded away pitifully. 'But I thought you hated Muggle-borns,' she asked meekly as if to make sure the world still made sense.

'Oh, make no mistake! I definitely detest Mudbloods,' Draco returned bluntly and without hesitation. His warm expression vanished as quickly and unexpectedly as a sudden blizzard in July, his gaze drilling into her with a ferocity that made her blush. 'Much more than Harry does, I expect. But, truth be told, I need you, and you need me. It's as simple as that. Besides, he accepted you, and you somehow got into Slytherin, so I guess you can't be all bad.'


	18. HD: Of things remembered part II

**Of things remembered part II**

* * *

It was past midnight, and Hogwart's infirmary was basked in the eerie glow of several potions that gleamed in a mixture of colours, not unlike the strange reflection of moonlight by the sea. As it was long past curfew, the room was-of course-deadly silent. Or at least, it should have been.

'Daphy, please lower your voice! It's a miracle Pomfrey hasn't come charging in already.' Tracey stood slightly behind her best friend, one hand anxiously grabbing Daphne's robes. Her whole body was tense, and she seemed ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

'You know,' Daphne said in a carrying voice that made Tracey wince, 'I've decided that I just don't care anymore. I'll be damned if some matron tells me when to visit Harry!'

'Is that why you lost your temper with McGonagall? I don't think that was such a good idea. You know how you irked her at your sorting,' Tracey pointed out.

The Greengrass heiress just waved the shorter girl's concern aside with a shrug. 'That old sawney had it coming.'

Tracey looked somewhat confused. 'Sawney?'

'Yeah, that's what Phineas' portrait usually calls them. I hear he refused to call his Scottish students anything else on principle.'

'That's kind of mean,' said Tracey, stifling a small laugh.

'If you think that's mean, you should get him started on the French when you're over at Harry's or in the headmaster's study.' Daphne's gaze seemed to be fixed upon something invisible and far away, the corners of her mouth twitching ever so slightly.

'I like the French!' huffed Tracey in a slightly hurt voice, causing her friend to blink in confusion.

'Well, never mind that, Tracey. We all have our quirks,' she said as she gently patted the shorter witch's head. Ignoring her best friend's scowl, Daphne turned her face towards the bed before them, and her expression grew grim. 'Do you think he'll wake up soon?'

Taking note of the serious tone of the other girl's voice, Tracey finally advanced a few small steps so that the both of them stood beside the bed that had been Harry's for the last ten days. 'Don't worry. If they haven't sent him to St Mungo's yet, then he's bound to regain consciousness soon.'

'But you heard Pomfrey, too. She was clearly worried that he hasn't woken up yet because he normally bounces right back after something like this...'

'Yes, well,' Tracey said in a serious voice of her own, 'it's a bit more than some bruises this time, isn't it? Two dorsal vertebrae shattered, arm broken in six places, some issues with organs where a broken rib did some damage. You know, we should be glad that Pomfrey was there as fast as she was. If he was a Muggle, I don't think he would've pulled th...'

'DON'T SAY THAT!' Daphne screamed hysterically, causing Tracey to flinch again and throw a worried look towards the office door. 'Don't ever finish that sentence,' she whimpered, her voice hoarse and clearly suppressing a sob.

Tracey rubbed her arm comfortingly. 'He'll be fine, Sweetie. You know he will be.'

'This time, maybe.' Daphne snivelled, reaching out to smooth the edges of Harry's duvet quite unnecessarily. 'But it's been getting worse. I...I don't know what'll happen if this keeps going...'

Tracey sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, causing Daphne to shoot her a reproving glare. 'And that's exactly why we're here tonight, Sweetie.'

'But...but _I_ decided we'd be heading to the infirmary tonight. I practically dragged you along!'

Tracey smiled disarmingly and pointed towards the door, where two people stood in the flickering lights of the torches in the corridor. 'I told you that we would probably end up needing Draco's help. Well, now we're all here to figure this one out.'

Daphne frowned, watching the second person close the door and hurriedly follow who she supposed was Malfoy. When the pair of them were finally near enough, Daphne reached out to draw her wand. 'What's _she_ doing here?!' she hissed menacingly, pointing an accusatory finger at Hermione.

'Keep your temper in check, Greengrass. Do you really want to start shooting hexes in the infirmary?' Draco drawled offhandedly. 'Granger is with me.'

Daphne's eyes widened in disbelief. 'You're kidding, right? _You_ and _Granger_?'

'Ehm, good evening,' Hermione almost whispered. Daphne ignored her, but Tracey waved at her cheerfully.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Yes, I'm _working_ with Granger, Greengrass,' he responded calmly. 'If you'd stop to think for a few seconds without braying like a nine-year-old, you'd see the benefit of this arrangement, too.'

'Well, I don't,' stated Daphne categorically, folding her arms.

'We need four people for this, Daphy,' Tracey chipped in.

'What? You, too, Tracey?' Daphne looked at her best friend as if she'd just drawn a dagger. 'We can't trust her!'

'Who is she supposed to betray us to?' Malfoy asked smugly.

'Well,' Daphne eagerly pounced at the opportunity to muse on the depths of Granger's treachery, 'obviously, there are loads of people, like...like...' She closed her mouth, clearly thinking furiously, before she snapped, 'The Pillars.'

'Unlikely. Not well-connected enough for that.' Draco regarded Hermione coolly. 'Besides, she's already antagonised the Bones brat, and they do seem to hold grudges. Also, Crouch or Prewett would never employ the services of someone who could turn out to be a spy for the Blacks, seeing as she was too close to Harry at some earlier point. It would only be plausible if they'd contacted her before she'd come to Hogwarts, but only the Department of Mysteries and Dumbledore know the addresses of Muggle-born students before they arrive at Hogwarts.'

'Excuse me, but who's this Crouch person?' Hermione asked, completely bewildered and desperately trying to keep up.

'And lastly,' Malfoy continued, gesturing towards Hermione's puzzled expression and pointedly ignoring her question, 'she's a terrible liar. Most of the time,' he added as an afterthought.

'We can't be sure!' Daphne growled in a guttural fashion. 'You basically admitted she could be placed in Slytherin just to spy on us.'

'True,' Malfoy shrugged his shoulders. 'But she doesn't seem the type. And I had her watched for four weeks. If she can stay inconspicuous for a whole month without us catching her, it's unlikely we ever will.'

'You had me stalked for four weeks?' Hermione gasped in a shocked voice, clearly outraged.

'Just a precaution.' He waved his hand in what he clearly considered a placating manner, but that Hermione, judging by the narrowing of her eyes, interpreted as dismissal. 'I'm just saying she's no more suspicious than you are, Greengrass.'

'WHAT?' Daphne shouted angrily. 'How _dare_ you?! I've known Harry nearly all my life!'

'Yes, we know.' He shot a swift look towards Hermione, while Tracey hid her eyes behind her hands and shook her head, sighing audibly. 'Well, _now_ we all know.' Daphne winced slightly. 'But the point is that you desperately cling to your connection to Harry even though your grandmother proceeds to publicly renounce everything Black. You have to agree that is a tad suspicious, right?'

Daphne clenched her fist. 'I'm my own person, you stuck-up ponce. Don't you dare bring my family into this...'

Malfoy merely smirked at that. 'So you _do_ consider the Greengrasses your family? Good to know...'

Daphne's eyes flared dangerously, causing Tracey to jump between the two. 'Ehem, maybe we could get back on track? Now that we've all agreed that none of us is beyond suspicion, we should probably focus on the point that we are still the _least_ suspicious people in this whole stupid school.'

'I suppose,' Draco answered equanimously.

'I'm still not even sure what you are all suspicious about, to be honest,' Hermione admitted in a weak voice, clearly lost somewhere in the conversation.

'Well,' Daphne gritted her teeth, 'I guess so.'

'Wonderful!' exclaimed Tracey happily. 'So now to the first business at hand. Daphy, apologise to Hermione!'

Daphne's eyes bulged. 'WHAT?'

'Daphne, apologise to Hermione!' Tracey repeated patiently.

'There is nothing to apologise about! Why would I...'

But she was interrupted again when Tracey furrowed her brow, looking accusingly at her best friend. 'Daphne, this won't work if you bite Hermione's head off all the time. That's why you will apologise to her.'

Greengrass took a step back from her best friend who fixed her with a steely gaze. 'I...but...'

'Daphne, you _will_ swallow that pride of yours and apologise to Hermione.' Slightly softer, she added, 'I know it's been eating at you. You can't hide that from me.'

Daphne looked in wonder, worry and no small amount of petulance at her best friend. Tracey rarely put her foot down and usually just went along with whatever she did, but Daphne conceded that her friend might still be more mature than her, however deeply irritating that admission might be considering Tracey's common attitude.

Clenching her fist again, she looked down, hiding her expression behind the long, blond hair that Harry had once so offhandedly complimented. Looking at her injured cousin, she exhaled and relaxed a bit. Eventually, she disturbed the pregnant silence that had befallen the room after several long moments and breaths.

'I'm...' Daphne began, but Tracey coughed meaningfully, effectively heading her off. Cringing slightly, Daphne heeded the subtle admonishment and straightened her pose, looking directly at Hermione for the first time since her arrival before hiding her eyes behind her hair again. 'I apologise for my unacceptable, rash and ungainly behaviour and actions after our first Transfiguration lesson, and I deeply regret threatening and injuring you, Granger,' she said in a very formal tone. 'As you might be aware of by now, Harry is a...delicate topic for me, even though I do not wish to bring this forth in an effort to extenuate my failings.' Daphne's voice was calm and her articulation crisp, completely at odds with her usual speech. Hermione looked at the source of many of her nightmares as if she'd seen Professor Snape dance to a drinking song. To her complete discomposure, Greengrass bowed gracefully. 'Though my actions are beyond expiation, I would ask you to forgive my shameful conduct.'

Hermione looked from the still bowing Greengrass, to a smirking Draco, and finally to Tracey, who looked away from Daphne with a soft expression on her face, and motioned for Hermione to accept.

Biting her lip for a few seconds, Hermione awkwardly reciprocated the bow, as it seemed appropriate to her even though she did not really understand the custom. 'I'm sorry for unwittingly causing Harry pain, and I too hope we can put his whole affair behind us.'

Greengrass straightened her back and gazed at her, cocking her head a touch. After a while, she nodded curtly.

'Aww, how cute!' Malfoy leered. 'How about you two kiss, so we can be done with this?'

Daphne's prior composure exploded in a fit of rage. 'Shut up, you stupid Maltese! Brushed your fur already?'

Glad to have overcome the strangely serious atmosphere, Hermione couldn't resist paying Malfoy back a bit after these last few hours. 'Maltese?' she repeated appreciatively. 'I'll have to remember that one.'

'Watch it, you two!' Malfoy grumbled.

'Yes, yes, leaving breeds of dogs behind us, can we now focus on the problem at hand, please?' Tracey called out in exasperation. Everyone nodded, though they all spotted Greengrass soundlessly mouthing something towards Draco that was very easy to guess. Malfoy narrowed his eyes in return, clearly trying to come up with something in retaliation.

Tracey sighed again, rubbing her eyes as if she had a day's worth of hard work behind her. 'Can it, all of you! Salazar, what have I done to deserve this?! At least now I know that I'll never work with children in the future.' She paused again. 'Look, let's just go over the plan. Draco, you first.'

'We have a plan?' Daphne asked in astonishment.

'Of course, we do! Did you think we'd just storm the Gryffindor common room and hex everything in sight?' Malfoy asked sarcastically.

'You mean we're not? Pity,' Daphne returned, apparently crestfallen.

'The plan, please?' Hermione reminded them in a subdued voice, earning a thankful nod from Tracey.

'Right,' Malfoy coughed importantly. 'As you can all guess, our priority should be to find out who stirs up trouble for Harry. While it's easy to guess that some Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors are riled up by the Pillars, they are relatively easy to evade. On the other hand, those who might attack Harry from within our own house could do so with easy access to him at all times and are thus much more dangerous. After thinking all incidents through, and especially keeping the last one in mind, Tracey and I are convinced that some Slytherins either collaborate with the Pillars or have their own agenda against the Blacks.

'While you, Greengrass and Tracey, will do your best to keep Harry safe,' Greengrass looked up, ecstatic when Draco came up with an an excuse to keep close to Harry, 'Granger and I will do our best to further investigate these attacks, beginning with their methods, our fellow students, and our general assessment of the parties involved.' Spotting Greengrass, who had seemingly retreated into her own world at the thought of sticking close to Harry, he cleared his throat again, a bit more forcefully this time. 'The both of you will need to be discreet, Greengrass. For now, you'll do yourself no favours being seen with him.'

Daphne murmured something about 'blasted politics' before she nodded very reluctantly at Tracey's annoyed glare.

Draco and Tracey continued laying out the plan, while Hermione and Daphne kept on asking questions every now and then, completely immersed in the task at hand.

In the corner of the room, completely missed by the lot of them and pointing his wand towards the office every hour or so, sat an invisible old man in flowing robes of pure velvet, an exiguous smile filled with pride playing about his lips.

 _~BLHD~_

A boy found himself in the void. He'd just, for lack of a better word, woken up to find himself surrounded by nothing at all: no sounds, no temperature, and no light. Instincts, however, were not something that easily bowed to the laws of logic, and once he had willed himself to move, he was mildly surprised to realise that he was indeed...shifting. This insight, too, was mysterious, seeing as the boy still could not see, feel or even hear to ascertain any motion.

Floating aimlessly for awhile, the boy began to wonder where he was. Strangely, he could not remember anything at all. It was as if all his thoughts were muffled or behind a curtain, somehow inaccessible for now. The harder he strained his concentration, the more he tried to remember, the sturdier this obstacle seemed to become in response. It was rather vexing.

Suddenly, a sensation pierced the veil that shrouded his consciousness. Some kind of phenomenon crashed repeatedly against the serenely floating form of the boy. After careful consideration, the boy decided it was sound. Straining his ears, he could almost make it out: it was a female voice, and it was bursting with emotion, shouting, crying; but specifics were hard to make out. After a while, more voices joined the first, another female first, then an old, male voice, both clearly as agitated as the first. They seemed to be exclaiming something over and over, but the meaning of their calls eluded him.

Still, now he had a sense of relative positions: he was here, and the sound came from somewhere else. Curiosity nudging him into action, he decided to approach. The voices changed, sometimes there were pauses for a while, which had caused him some concern at first, but in the end, the voices returned without fail. The boy learned to differentiate the voices better after some time. The easiest were the two young girls, who so frequently called out to him. But there were others, too. An older male voice that for some reason made him redouble his efforts, and the voice of a young woman among some others.

At some point in time, the boy _saw_ something. At first, it was but a speck of light and dark on the horizon, but even the mere glimpse of something, anything at all to touch, see and interact with filled the boy with such excitement that he closed the gap in what he considered mere moments. Curiously enough, he hadn't found the source of the voices. No, those were even further onwards. What he had found...was a black waterfall that poured forth into a, by comparison, very small basin of crystal clear yet still dark water.

Inquisitively edging forwards, he looked into the small pond at his feet and smirked as his reflection looked up at him with an apathetic, cool grin. He wasn't thirsty, but he still could not help himself and tried to scoop a bit of water into his hand. To his great irritation, he found the water to be as insubstantial as a ray of light.

Furrowing his brows, he turned towards the waterfall, but jumped back almost immediately, eyes bulging in shock. It wasn't water that fell from the sky without any discernible source; no, it was a steady flow of images. In fascination, he beheld how the constant stream of pictures seemed to form a chain of events, comparable to a story maybe. He couldn't help himself and hesitantly reached out.

The images felt refreshingly cool and consolingly warm at the same time, but as if it had awaited his touch, the waterfall came to a sudden and impressive halt, allowing him to study the last picture without any haste.

He saw the outlines of a small boy who was bleeding so much that a sizeable puddle of his lifeblood had formed at his feet. He was leaning back against a wall, panting heavily and eyes drooping, wand held loosely at his side. Something silver and rather small seemed to be halted in great speed and was just about to vanish through a wall. In the background, the boy could see several dark, faceless figures, one of them in the process of raising its wand towards the injured young man.

The boy blinked. Something akin to...anger welled up inside him as he watched the frozen scene, yet he could not say with certainty why he felt that way.

His interest spiked; he waved his hand downwards on a hunch. The scene before him splashed into the lake and images flickered across the surface of the waterfall until he arbitrarily halted them once again. This time, he saw the same young man in festive robes dancing with a woman of almost blinding beauty. The boy seemed somehow younger than in the last picture. Not by age but rather by attitude: less guarded, more approachable. Both seemed to be enjoying themselves, and the boy, in particular, seemed to have an adoring look on his face. Lots of people stood around them, watching them dance. Some with humorous expressions, others with slight frowns, and yet a few with something akin to exasperation. He couldn't help but smile a bit at the scene.

He flicked his hand twice. This time the scene showed a smaller room with several pillars, all but shrouded in darkness while several pink lights seemed to bounce across the room. Still, he could make out two people in the dark: the boy and the woman. The ravishing beauty stood cocky and brazen in the middle of the room, one hand in the pocket of her robes, the other calmly handling a very bright wand. The boy was hidden behind a column and appeared to be breathing hard, eyes closed. A bit of broken glass lay at his feet in several circles of runes, and something...something decidedly odd. The visitor came closer to the picture, focusing intently on the layers of runes and the broken glass, his nose nearly touching the image. Something black seemed to swell within the runes, about to erupt into the room, darkness condensed into a package of...calamity. Still edging closer and closer, the boy couldn't help but sense that something was wrong with the picture. Just as a shiver crept down his spine, the darkness stirred abruptly within the otherwise frozen picture, readjusting its focus towards the boy and _stared back at him_. The visitor jumped back and nearly fell over, hastily swishing the image away.

Breathing deeply to quell the sense of panic that had taken hold of him, the boy waited for a bit longer this time to halt the stream of images. He did so only when the pond was more than half-full with drifting memories.

He saw a library and within it a small boy who could not be older than seven or eight. He seemed to be reaching towards a book in a special casing.

A sense of shame made the spectator wave the image again, and halt it shortly thereafter.

An old man in very imposing black robes held the same small boy's hand. The boy was clad in identical robes of sombre black. At a respectful distance, circled all around them, stood a few dozen people with serious expressions, and before the pair, kneeling in the mud, was a small girl with flowing, sleek blond hair, crying heartrendingly in front of a marked stone with an abundance of flowers scattered around it.

Blinking repeatedly, the observer swiftly dismissed the scene. The last picture had left him with a heavy mood, and he decided to inspect just one last image, one last scene of the boy's life.

With yet another wave of his hand, the stream came to a halt, and the onlooker froze. He saw an even younger little boy, and an older, stiff-looking woman in her forties who was wearing some kind of uniform, her hand raised in a gesture of reprimanding the boy who looked to be nearing tears. The scene seemed ordinary. A boy about to face the consequences of his foolish or youthful actions. Yet somehow, the spectator felt drawn towards the image with a sense of terror and revulsion that surprised him, filled him to the very core with the urge to turn and run. The scene was ordinary, probably a daily occurrence, but it stood for something else: something worse, something important. Without a thought, the visitor dived head-first into the image before him.

 _~BLHD~_

'How often do I have to remind you not to visit the kitchens, Master Harry?' The stern-looking woman berated the boy. 'This is no proper conduct for the scion of a distinguished family.'

'B-b...but I just wanted to grab a snack, Marietta,' stammered the boy, squirming before the woman.

'Nonsense! You will adhere to the proper times of your meals, and that is that. No further discussion!' said the woman, towering over the little boy who seemed to melt into tears under her imposing figure. 'And no crying either! You should play or study a bit until we get you for dinner, young master.'

As if on rails, the woman turned about and strode down the corridor, and a thoroughly defeated little Harry made his way through the mansion towards his rooms. Upon entering, the boy scowled. There were lots of books and equally as many toys, but there really wasn't anything he _wanted_ or had asked for. The books were boring, most were fiction or political introductions that, for some strange reason, always seemed to lean towards portraying the Potters as the best family there was. The room was bright and decorated in an inviting, friendly manner, but Harry held nothing but disgust for it. He had once asked to paint the room differently, but-of course-his request had been thoroughly denied: 'This room was decorated by your parents, Master Harry. You will want it to remain the way it is to have something to remember them by,' Angélique, another of his maids, had claimed in an authoritative voice. That was Harry's life in a nutshell: He'd ask for something only for it to be denied. And while the maids were all excessively polite to him, they were just so...cold.

Suppressing a sad little sob, the boy climbed onto chair in front of his desk and very slowly deciphered the letter he had gotten this week.

' _Esteemed Master Potter,_

 _I have the distinct honour to formally invite you to our soirée at our humble abode in London next Friday evening. Your presence is requested from 4pm until 6pm._

 _Respectfully,_  
 _Bartemius Crouch_ '

All the letters were like this. Harry didn't know what a soirée was, but he had learned that it wouldn't do to ask such questions. He was expected to attend, and so he would attend, his maids would make sure of it. He would be paraded from guest to guest as 'Master Potter', shaking hands with foreign wizards, important witches, and sometimes he would be required to sign something he didn't fully understand. Usually, Marietta would accompany him, because, as she had put it, 'House-elves are just not acceptable for such an occasion'. Not that there were any at Potter Mansion any more. Harry dimly remembered a time when that had been different, but for the last years, it had only been his 'servants' (who oddly enough nevertheless ordered him around like an elf) and the occasional guest. He had once been foolish enough to ask why the maids, who were supposed to look after him, had so much say in his life, and he'd been grounded for a whole month for his impudence.

In the end, he'd just given up. His life had settled into a painful routine of denied requests and invitations to respectable families. He didn't have anything in particular against most of them. The Crouches and Prewetts were very distant but not unkind. The Abbotts were a bit deferential, as were the Bones, but Susan and Hannah were friendly enough. He had thought so at least, for awhile, until late last year, he had overheard Susan complaining to Hannah that they were 'supposed to play with that crybaby' again, and his outlook on their little gatherings had understandably dimmed.

Neville was alright, he supposed. A bit quiet, but much more earnest. He had even once snuck into the kitchens together with Harry, and his daringness had endeared him to the young Potter, who had been horrified at the thought of getting caught.

Unceremoniously throwing the invitation into the waste-paper basket, Harry got up and tiptoed towards the door, hand outstretched. Maybe he'd give it another go with the library? He had never actually managed to get inside, but Neville had shown him the Longbottom library once, much to his envy. There had been hundreds and hundreds of books, and none of them stupid fairy-tales. Neville had regaled him with the story of how he was to receive a tutor for magical education once he turned eight, and Harry had never been so jealous in his entire life. He knew he was supposed to be a wizard; his parents had been a witch and wizard, from what he'd heard. But when he had finally worked up the courage to ask, Marietta had said that he was much too young and would learn what he needed to succeed in life once he entered Hogwarts. She'd also made a point of saying that Harry, as the last of the Potters, had servants to perform any feat of magic that he desired (should it turn out _respectable_ , no doubt).

Harry lowered his hand again, fighting a rising lump in his throat. No, he'd never be allowed into the library. The second time he had tried to stealthily gain entry at night, Marietta had informed him in a crisp manner, that even his eventual stay at Hogwarts was a 'privilege' that could quite easily be revoked if Harry didn't improve his unworthy demeanour, as there were private teachers who would only be too happy to teach him.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door.

'Yes?' Harry called out, slightly taken aback.

The door opened, and a man with light brown hair, a slightly lined face and a doleful little smile entered the room, crouching down to ruffle Harry's hair.

'Uncle Remus!' Harry called excitedly, giving the man a fierce embrace.

'It's good to see you again, Harry. Happy birthday! How are you?' he asked in his calming voice.

'Same as ever, Uncle Remus. I'm bored!'

His uncle chuckled in a friendly manner. 'Don't you have anything to read or play with?'

Harry gently disentangled himself from the embrace and looked down towards his feet. 'Oh, yes. Guess I do.'

'See, it isn't so bad,' the man said in an appeasing manner.

'Don't you think you could ask Marietta to let me into the room with the books, please?' Harry turned his eyes towards Remus, trying to look as innocent as possible.

But the man's smile only widened. 'That won't work on me, Harry. And I'm sure Miss Miller knows what's best for you.'

Harry grumpily kicked his waste-paper basket, making it spill its contents onto the scrupulously clean carpet. 'You're no fun anymore, Uncle Remus... Is Uncle Sirius coming by today? He gives me some really cool stuff to read sometimes!'

If Harry had been less preoccupied with kicking the crumpled invitations across his room, he'd have seen Remus' expression hardening ever so slightly. 'I'm afraid he won't be coming again at all.'

Harry turned around, his dismay easy to see. 'What? Why not? I like Sirius!'

His uncle grew thoughtful, and only after a while did he explained in a cautious tone, 'I'm sorry, Harry. But it's been deemed inadvisable to have him visit you any longer.'

Harry stood still, rooted to the spot. This was a disaster! Remus and Sirius were the only people remotely fun who came over to visit him. 'But...but you said that you and Sirius would look after me! Isn't that what you said last year?'

'That,' said Remus in a heavy tone, looking regretful, 'was a mistake. I'm really sorry about all of this.'

'NO!' young Harry shouted suddenly. 'No! I don't want this...I want Sirius to visit!'

'It won't happen,' Remus replied with a trace of coldness that shocked Harry. 'I need to be on my way. I'll...I'll see you around, Harry.'

'But you will still visit, Remus? You won't leave me alone, will you?' Harry called out in a small voice, almost too afraid to ask.

His uncle grimaced crookedly. 'I'll try, of course. But I don't think I'll be able to come over as often as I've done in the past. Just behave yourself and everything will work out, alright? Do as Miss Miller tells you, and it'll be okay.' The man walked towards the door and opened it.

Harry stood still rooted to the spot. This was the worst birthday _ever_. 'No, Remus! Don't leave me here!' he cried after the retreating figure. But the man in his robes that were slightly too big and rather worn-out didn't turn around again.

'I'm sorry, Harry,' he said curtly and closed the door.

Harry flung himself onto the bed and began to cry in earnest. Even now he could hear the voice of the head-maid reprimanding him, but as long as he stayed in his room and made no loud noises, he was usually left to his own devices. Harry whined and sobbed, cursing the unfairness of it all. He _hated_ Marietta, Angélique and all the others who never let him do as he liked; who dragged him to parties where he was always nervous and couldn't play with his friends; who forbade him to read what he liked, play what he liked and go where he wanted to. He hated it all, this stupid house with the pictures of people he didn't know but who were supposed to be really important to him. He hated the people who invited him to their boring parties full of grown-ups who paraded him around like a well-bred dog.

And now Sirius wasn't allowed to visit any more, and despite what Uncle Remus might think, Harry wasn't stupid enough to believe that this had nothing to do with him. This was his punishment. Another privilege restricted because he wasn't their perfect little Master Potter, their respectable little scion, their _subservient_ , most humble little Harry, best friend to the Ministry.

He wanted it all gone!

Just when Harry's desperation and self-pity had reached their apex, a shattering explosion rattled the whole mansion. Screams erupted further down the house, and Harry could hear some of his maids yelling in distress. Harry didn't get up but instead, almost apathetic, turned his head sideways so as to look out of the big window. Panicked shouts and what he believed to be magical incantations filled the air. Some white-blueish film around the estate seemed to flicker and die after another enormous blast shook the house and all its residents.

The little boy smiled a bit and closed his eyes. Perhaps someone had heard his late birthday wish and decided to answer his prayers.

 _~BLHD~_

Miles and miles away, across a distance of nearly ten years, Harry awoke in the infirmary.

* * *

 _ **AN:** Well, you guys have asked why Harry so casually and gladly forsook the Potter heritage in chapter two, you guys inquired why he's with the Blacks, and some of you questioned me about Sirius and Remus. While I admit that I left many questions unanswered for now, the last few chapters should, as a whole, paint a (hazy) picture._

 _Next chapter: **Inaugurations part II** on the **25th of December**. Sorry, I'm incredibly busy at the moment, but I promise that I'll never even consider slowing down more than updating every two weeks. Sadly, lying in bed hoping to recover did nothing to lift my workload. From afar, my desk looks like a project-study for a new building._


	19. HD: Inaugurations part II and III

_This chapter is dedicated to Haley and Daze for putting up with my dubious schedule. Without their efforts, I'd never be able to get this done. The both of you are awesome!_

 **Inaugurations part II and III**

* * *

'I get it already, Draco. I get it!' Hermione snarled indignantly, clenching her fists. 'There's no need to talk to me like I'm a five-year-old.'

The Malfoy merely sneered at her condescendingly. 'What there's no need of,' he said with forced calm, 'is to place higher expectations on you, it seems.'

Both of them stared menacingly at each other before they closed their eyes at exactly the same moment to compose themselves, resulting in a moment of uneasy silence between the Muggle-born and the pure-blood.

Hermione broke first under the pressure. 'Why did you do that to my Christmas card, Draco?' she asked, her voice more hurt than angry now.

The boy, she observed, ran his hand through his hair in annoyance. 'Look, Granger. I presume you probably meant well, but have either Harry or Tracey responded or mentioned your Christmas card?'

'Ehm...no?' That had indeed been a matter of some worry to her. She had, at the very least, expected Tracey to respond.

'And that is mostly because it was much more of a slap than a friendly gesture of goodwill. If Harry didn't, for whatever inexplicable reason that so far eludes me, like you at all, he probably would have sent you a hex per return owl. And probably a really nasty one at that. I would sincerely advise you to not anger the Blacks in such a careless manner,' he said, stressing the last point as if talking to a loveable but slightly dim-witted toddler. 'Just so you stay safe, you know.'

Hermione squinted her eyes. That didn't seem like Harry at all. 'You're exaggerating, aren't you? Harry isn't as mean-spirited as you! It took me hours to clean up the tar, and that's not even including the grilling I had to endure from my parents,' she mumbled. 'That was tar, right? Please tell me it was just tar!'

Draco's usual smirk flickered for a fleeting moment across his face. 'Let's just go with tar and leave it at that,' he said in a maddening tone of superiority. Then, quite suddenly, his expression changed back to a deep frown. 'I assure you he would. Man, it's so wrong that I'll have to be the one to spell it out for you...' He seemed to ponder something for a little while before coming to some sort of conclusion. He sighed. 'Alright, sit, Granger, and pay attention!'

Hermione did not take kindly to Draco's allusions of megalomania, but she chose to heed his order in this instance. Maybe this would shed some light on the diffuse and incomprehensible social rules of the pure-bloods.

'There is a reason why there exist few friendships between traditionally minded pure-bloods and Mudbl...Muggle-borns these days. The Ministry has, contrary to what you might intuitively guess or perceive through experience, passed a great many laws and educational reforms to make the lives of students without magical background far easier than they have ever been before.'

'Which is a good thing!' Hermione insisted hotly.

'I presume it was done with good intentions, granted, but that is the most positive statement you will hear me say about it. As always with big political decisions, long-term consequences are hard to calculate, often hanging in the balance for a while until one or another finally prevails. Exactly like with this one. For nearly twenty years it looked like everything would work out-let's say-reasonably well. More Muggle-borns than ever attended Hogwarts and seemed to get along amiably enough with the rest. After the war, many ministerial or commercial positions were severely understaffed, and there was a general need for able wizards and witches, no matter their background. Thus, a lot of...non-pure-bloods rose quickly through the ranks, occupying very respectable and responsible positions like the head of the Goblin Liaison Office.'

'Which is also a good thing!' Hermione snapped at his tone that clearly expressed his disdain.

Malfoy gritted his teeth angrily. 'Shut your trap! If you interrupt me every time something arouses your approval, I'll hex your lips together!' No hint of his usual swagger and rompishness remained by now in his expression. Cold, hard fury took its place. 'And regarding your uneducated and preconceived views, the first Muggle-born head of said office nearly started a war between the British Ministry of Magic and the Goblin Nation!'

Hermione sat on her chair and stared at him slack-jawed. 'How?' she asked quietly.

'Because he was prematurely promoted, which, in all fairness, was an oversight a pure-blood made in the first place.' Again, he ran his hands through his white-blond mane that magically held its billowy barnet in stylish shape. 'Look, I'm not trying to insult you this time, but Muggle-borns are different than those raised within traditional pure-blood culture.'

Hermione tried her best to keep her feelings to herself and asked in a quiet voice, 'Why do you insist on saying something mean like that, Draco?'

He looked, she noted with a small feeling of placation, just a touch troubled by her expression. Or maybe with what he had to say. 'It's because you were raised in a different society that values different attributes in a person of standing, tells an altogether different-meaning wrong-history, has other customs, manners, morals, goals in education... The list goes on forever! The person I spoke of nearly endangered a very fragile peace at the time because he misjudged his own actions, and, unwittingly I'm sure, offended the Goblins with his non-existing knowledge regarding our postal formalities. A joke, right? He nearly killed thousands because he couldn't write a formal letter...'

Hermione sank a bit in her chair, and Draco, shifting from one foot to another for a while, sat down and looked her straight in the eye that just barely managed to stay tear-free. 'I mean, I'm not saying that Muggle-borns are an inferior race or anything. A pure-blood raised by Muggles is no different to me than you and vice-versa, though I'll be honest with you that I still believe that people from a certain background make better wizards or witches.' He paused again for a while, frown firmly etched on his face before he lightened up. 'Look, if you moved to another country, say China, you could probably learn most essential customs within the span of a few months, provided you could speak Mandarin, of course. You agree?'

Hermione nodded dejectedly, seeing where this was going. 'But your background knowledge is still never quite the same, is it? Even if you get by for ten years without being outed as a foreigner, socially at least, you still could, at any time of the day really, make a blunder because you didn't know a particular children's story, or an old politician, or a very specific custom that fell out of practice.'

Draco looked thankful that she had gotten the point so quickly. He shifted his pose to sit up straight and coughed in a curiously academic fashion that reminded Hermione instantly of Harry. 'Very good, Granger! Trivial yet socially relevant knowledge is, in general, not easily acquired through secondary means, as our good Harry might say.' He smiled crookedly. 'Sadly, the cultural span between Muggle China and Britain is considerably easier to bridge than the one between Muggle Britain and pure-blood, traditional magical Britain. The country was already split way before the Statue of Secrecy was actually enforced, and 350 years of isolation contributed the rest. Imagine what Iceland would look like if they built a steel dome around the island and refused to let anyone enter for more than half a millennium.'

Hermione couldn't help herself and looked droopily at her feet. In all honesty, she just wanted to leave and cry herself to sleep. Never before had she felt so much an outcast than right at this moment. Even the thought of forsaking the magical world completely crossed her mind briefly, and she had to admit that it didn't appear half as appalling as she would have considered it to be a few moments ago. 'So it'll never be exactly the same for me?' she asked in a hushed voice, turning her head away from Draco to hide her stinging eyes.

'No,' he said without mercy or pause.

Her body quivered a few times as she suppressed the violent urge to break into tears. _I will not cry! At least not right here, right now_ , she admonished herself over and over inside her head. In the end, though, her will succumbed to the horrible feeling of disconnection that distorted everything she had previously so ignorantly and innocently thought delightfully different. _Maybe I really just don't belong here..._

She sat on her chair for a long while, silently spilling bitter tears of disillusionment. Eventually, Draco, whom she had completely forgotten by this point, awkwardly cleared his throat. 'Damn Tracey! I'm so going to get you for this,' he muttered more to himself than to her. She looked up at him and saw that he was offering her a silken green handkerchief with small animated snakes embroidered on it. The snakes winked at her cutely.

She couldn't help herself and let out a puny little laugh that got caught up with another sob along the way as she gingerly dabbed at her eyes. Eventually, she calmed herself a bit. 'Thank you,' she said shakily, trying her best to ignore her slightly hot cheeks. 'T-that is kind of cute, you know. I never figured you to be the kind of person to have something like this.' She indicated the hanky he had given her.

'My...my mother gave it to me,' he chuntered reluctantly.

She turned her gaze from the twee and merry little snakes to Draco, who looked intently back at her. To Hermione's surprise, she still saw the slight discomfort in the cool armour of his demeanour. 'So?' she croaked, intent on getting everything out in the open this time. 'What's the deal with the Christmas cards?'

Draco sighed, seemingly readopting his previous displeasure at her ignorance, which she found perplexingly reassuring. 'We don't celebrate Christmas, Granger. Traditionally, in magical Britain and most of Europe at least, we have Yule.' Seeing her look, he hastily added, 'Which is something like winter-solstice if you aren't familiar with the term.'

Hermione scoffed at that, suppressing a hiccup. 'But why the strong reaction just because you celebrate a different holiday? It seems to be around December too, so what's the big problem?'

'The problem,' he suspired for what she estimated to be the twelfth time this day, 'is not Christmas. Do you believe us so hypocritical and bigoted that we would shun you for your own beliefs and upbringing and expect you to unquestioningly accept ours?'

Hermione bit her lips and looked through red eyes at her feet again, not daring to affirm his suspicions.

Draco, however, didn't seem to need her confirmation. 'Look, the situation isn't as easy as that. Don't you think it's strange that Harry and I know all about Christmas but you've probably never heard of Yule before?'

'Yes, that _is_ strange. I thought it was tradition! Shouldn't Hogwarts refer to it at least on some rudimentary level?'

Draco grimaced. 'It should. I hadn't finished my little explanation before we steered off topic, but prove to me that you're the smart little girl Tracey says you are and figure it out yourself.'

Hermione thought back to the ill-advised promotion with its nearly catastrophic outcome and to the situation that had led to it. 'You said there were lots of open posts and not enough pure-bloods, or as you said, people of the right background?'

Draco nodded slowly, urging her on.

'Which, I take it, led to an influx of Muggle culture to a previously sheltered little society?'

Her interlocutor repeated himself before adding, 'There were other factors too, of course. For example, in the past, many Muggle-borns refused to enter magical Britain and were obliviated, their magic forcefully bound. Inconveniently, the prejudices against what the public perceived as strange talents weakened a bit, leading to many more Muggle-borns actually attending Hogwarts.'

'And that wave, of course, smashed against the witches and wizards who were already weakened after the war.' She nodded to herself, still rather mopey.

'More or less,' Draco said reluctantly. 'But it only gets more complicated from there. Several popular pure-blood clans tried to forestall the inevitable surge of power the Muggle-borns would eventually receive and brought about massive and radical change.'

'The Pillars,' Hermione whispered.

Draco did actually smile this time. 'Good to see you keeping up. They prematurely appeased something that would, given enough time, probably have turned into a radical and volatile part of society. The only problem is, the resulting situation does not sit well with pretty much anyone. The Muggle-borns realise that, though many things have _on the surface_ changed in their favour, the old ways don't die out quite as easily as they had hoped, and let me put it this way: we are not only talking about festivities and manners. Not to mention that the Pillars are, of course, pure-blood clans and still herald most of the really important decisions.

'Now, the Pillars themselves stand between two fires, as the traditionalists and the Muggle-borns both vie for more power and influence, both with popular support, I might add. Not to mention that they had to sell part of their identity to stay in control and power. So far only their shiny reputation as war heroes has managed to keep them firmly settled in their seats.

'The traditionalists, as you might imagine, despise the Pillars for several reasons, most notably for selling out our identity under the pretext of peace while they conveniently secured themselves something which is slowly turning into a dynasty, not that anyone would be daring enough to use the word in public. At the same time, they regard the Muggle-born movement with hardly concealed contempt, because they were, as some put it, coerced to give up traditions they held dear for more than a thousand years because some upstarts made a grab for power.

'Truthfully, it's all still a lot more complicated. All the factions are further splintered down, often championed by particularly famous or powerful families with varying degrees of radicalness. Only the Pillars have, so far at least, managed to present a united front, led by the Prewetts. Though, in recent years, some of those families that have strong ties with the Ministry have distanced themselves from the Pillars and formed their own little circle around Crouch, who, as you might have gathered yesterday evening, is our current Minister for Magic.'

Spotting her completely overwhelmed expression, he smirked. 'Got all that, Granger?'

Hermione shut her eyes and leant back in her seat. 'Yes,' she said in a tired voice before she braved a very feeble smile. 'In short, it's a mess.'

'Couldn't have put it better myself!' Draco returned solemnly.

Hermione absent-mindedly chewed on her lips a bit, before she threw Draco a calculating look. 'You said that I should never expect to completely bridge the gap created by our different upbringings.'

Draco nodded curtly. 'It's better you face the truth of it now than be disappointed later on, Granger.'

'Yes, well, but now that I think a bit more clearly about the whole thing, how can a few years make so much of a difference?' she asked challengingly to make up for her rather embarrassing outburst earlier.

'It's not so much the years but the opportunity.' He waved his hands to indicate his helplessness in the matter. 'Where do you expect to get the information you need?'

'A book?' she said automatically, feeling slightly foolish for suggesting something so easy.

Draco shook his head. 'It's not that simple. By tradition and once upon a time for need of security, most magical societies pass on their knowledge verbally. That is why books that are older than two or three hundred years are extremely rare and expensive. I heard that Flourish and Blotts recently sold a magical monograph about some long forgotten but revered wizards and witches for more than 800,000 Galleons.'

Hermione gasped, slightly unbelieving about the exorbitant sum. _On the other hand_ , she mused, _it did make a certain amount of sense. In a world where knowledge was_ tangible _power, tomes like that would be coveted by all who had the resources to buy and the wit to understand them. Still, that's a rather frightening amount of gold._

'Who could afford that, though?' Hermione asked, honestly in awe of who had that much money to burn through.

'Who indeed,' Draco returned, smiling as if enjoying a private joke. 'What I'm saying, Granger, is that you'd have to hire a tutor who spends at least a few hours a day for several years to give you a thorough insight into our world, not that that service is even something anyone offers, as far as I know. Even then, you'd need time to adjust. Learning something and living it naturally and without thought are just not the same. Most people wouldn't ever be able to pull it off convincingly.'

'So you're saying I couldn't manage?' Hermione demanded, her voice rising a bit.

Draco looked thoughtful for a second, cocking his head back and forth. 'I'm not sure you can,' he said honestly. 'I know you're quite smart and you definitely read a lot, but this is about more than just books, you know.'

Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'I don't see how that's a problem! Even if I mess up every once and again, as long as I get the gist of it, I should at least be able to passably move in your circles without offending people left and right, shouldn't I?'

'I don't know,' Draco said, clearly amused while looking at her sceptically. 'Could you?'

'Yes, I definitely could, you conceited jerk!' Hermione shouted in his face defiantly, her performance, she had to admit, probably slightly ruined by her puffy eyes and somewhat frequent sniffing.

Draco stared at her unflinchingly, clearly gauging her reaction. After several painful seconds, he grinned and reached behind him. Hermione, completely nonplussed by yet another incomprehensible reaction, saw that he was reaching into the bag that held his school supplies, from which he seemed to procure three books, two of which looked old and battered. Carefully, he laid them on the table before her. Hermione just stared at him as he seated himself opposite her again, a big smirk on his face. Then she took in the titles of the books: _Distinguished Families of Great Britain;_ _Manners or Malevolence? A Study of Muggle Sociology;_ _Political Events of the 20_ _th_ _Century and their Impact on European Magical Societies_.

Again, she looked from the books towards Draco, whose smirk seemed to gain power with each passing second of her obvious befuddlement. Eventually, she found her voice again. 'You...you scheming schizophrenic! You did it again! I can't believe I fell for it another time, you stupid Maltese,' she shouted, completely scandalised. 'Can't you for once just ask me if I want to pull through with something? Really, are all pure-bloods such psychos?'

Draco watched her with great amusement, just barely, and quite obviously, holding in the urge to laugh at her.

Flaring her nostrils angrily, Hermione turned away from the infuriating little ponce to have a second look at the books. Then she blinked and had a third look that was reserved for the second title. Wordlessly opening it, she quickly found out that it was a sociological dissertation from the year 1782. 'Where did you get that?' she demanded, still fuming. 'It somehow doesn't seem to be up your alley, and didn't you tell me that old books are valuable?'

'Don't ask, it's not mine! It belongs to…a friend who has a passing and morbid interest in Muggle society. And yes, while that book is only a transcribed copy, as the original is in either Russian or German or something, I kind of forgot. What you hold in your hands is still probably worth at least 3,000 Galleons,' he explained casually. 'If you found someone barmy enough to buy that stuff,' he added in a slightly lower voice. 'The book is, as per usual, charmed to not take unnecessary blemish or damage when worked with, and you won't be able to copy the contents directly or indirectly out of it.'

'How does that work,' Hermione asked curiously. 'Can I write down my thoughts on what I learn from them or take notes?'

'Don't ask me how; it's a seriously complicated piece of enchantment. Most private libraries are secured like that to prevent espionage or theft of knowledge.'

'Does this have something to do with why you are all so...guarded with information about your families?' Hermione asked anxiously.

'Yes and no,' Draco returned while rolling his eyes. 'Third book, chapter seventeen. Make sure to pay special attention to chapters three, sixteen, and forty-two as well.'

'I thought you said that there were no books to help with this problem,' she said scathingly.

'Nope,' he said in an intentionally infuriatingly Muggle way of speaking that she only now understood to be quite ironic. 'I said it wouldn't be easy. Still, be happy you have those books. There are probably only three people in our year that could get their hands on something like the first or second one. The history book is, on the other hand, a standard introduction for the children of traditionally minded families.'

With that, he got up from his seat and stretched his back. 'Well, I'm off. We'll postpone our meetings until you can greet me without mortally offending me or my family. Bye bye, little Granger.' He waved his hand lazily as he strutted towards the exit.

Hermione's glare followed him until he was out through the door. _Why can't that arrogant prat just tell me anything straight up? Why does it always have to be so circumventive? One of these days I'll pay him back! And Harry too for his little stunt with the Sorting._

Grinning eagerly at the thought of one-upping those blasted schemers, she collected the three books Draco had lent her and put them away rather gingerly, seeing as her parents could buy a small car for the price of just one of them. Just when she turned to leave, her eyes darted to the small dress handkerchief with the diminutive snakes that batted their eyelids so adorably at her. She picked it up. Fighting the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, she stuffed it into her robes and went off towards the Slytherin common room.

 _Maybe it's not all that bad._

 _~BLHD~_

'Water, please,' Harry called out, his voice raw and unsteady, a slight feeling of déjà-vu that he could not quite understand further confusing his already clouded mind.

He heard hasty footsteps. 'Mr Black! My word, just a second...' The matron swept off, ripping open at least a dozen cupboards and drawers all over the room and quite clearly paying absolutely no mind to closing them again.

'How are you, Harry?' Harry tried with all his might to turn his neck to look the other way, but it hurt so much that he nearly cried out in pain.

'Don't be ridiculous, Harry,' said Arcturus soothingly as he settled himself on the other side of his bed.

'Grandfather,' Harry called out calmer than he had felt before. 'I-I don't feel too good... How late is it?' He was surprised how thin and weak his voice sounded.

Arcturus offered him his wand, and Harry just managed to close his fingers around it in a weak grip. 'It has been nearly eleven days since your fight. Your injuries were quite severe, I'm afraid.'

'Eleven days?' Harry shouted out, immediately regretting the impulse as his throat started burning while his brain seemed to dissolve into painful and liquid mush. He closed his eyes again as his vision blurred.

'Don't overexert yourself, Harry,' Arcturus said as he gently pushed him down again. 'I do believe that you will have to spend a few more days in Poppy's care. I will not allow you to overtax your body.'

Harry simply grunted his agreement, not daring to open his mouth at the moment, when he sank back into the bed and tried to relax.

'I wish you were here more often, Lord Black.' Pomfrey approached them with a tray full of potions, tonics and salves. 'I've never seen him so compliant in my care.'

Harry winced involuntarily, even as a new streak of pain shot up his head.

'Oh, pray tell, Poppy. For some reason or another, this matter has yet to be brought to my attention. Curious.' His grandfather spoke in a scolding, if still rather affectionate, tone.

'Lord Black, I mean no offence, of course,' Pomfrey said in a voice that seemed to relish in her inevitable victory over Harry's reluctance. Harry opened his eyes and shot her a huffy look. 'But your grandson tends to hide his wounds from me if he thinks he can get away with it.'

'Really now?' Arcturus asked, eyebrow raised, holding Harry in a steely gaze. 'In that case, I think I'll lend Hogwarts one of our house-elves. You may call upon Minnie should Harry prove uncooperative in the future. She will know what to do. If you'll excuse me, Poppy, I have to clear some matters with the headmaster.'

'Grandfather,' Harry croaked once again.

'Rest up, Harry,' Arcturus overrode him. 'We shall speak again soon.'

'What about, you know...' His voice died away before he had finished the sentence, the shame of what had happened slowly creeping into his face.

'Worry not. The matter has been dealt with.' He leant closer and placed his body between Pomfrey and Harry. 'Now all you and the others need to do is flush them out. That shall remain your task, my son,' he whispered.

The old man squeezed his shoulders in a reassuring way before he straightened his posture.

'What did you do?' Harry asked with wonder in his eyes.

'Oh, nothing much,' Arcturus said with the innocence of a demon. 'I just informed all the Wizengamot families that I will, most regrettably, be forced to declare blood-feud against the perpetrators, their families, their political allies, their connivers and any and all who try to aid them from this point forth.'

Harry gaped in awe at the figure of his grandfather, not even registering the shocked outcry of the matron who had seemingly dropped a few jars in alarm.

'But I am not an unreasonable man,' Arcturus continued in his voice of apparent civility. 'Should they accept life-long exile, I shall content myself with sparing those underage at the time of their misdeeds. There still is so much to do. We will speak soon, Harry.' He presented Harry with one last sincere and clearly relieved smile before he turned to leave. 'And do remember my offer, Poppy.'

Harry looked up at the ceiling, listening with all his might to every footstep the retreating figure left behind.

'I think he was here with you the entire time, you know, Harry,' the matron said eventually, her voice slightly wispy.

Harry looked at her. 'How very forward of you, Madame Pomfrey.' They stared at each other for a few seconds before Harry cracked a friendly grin. 'Thanks for patching me up again.'

'Well, it is my job, so don't worry about it.' She gave a small laugh. 'But now that you're awake you'll have to pay close attention to what I do.'

'Ugh,' he complained. 'Is it just me or is it a bit morbid to study Healing with your own battered and broken body?'

'Keep your witty Slytherin remarks to a minimum at this point in time.' Smiling warmly, she added, 'Now, drink this, and then we'll change your bandages.'

 _~BLHD~_

Hermione had her nose nearly pressed against her book, as she lay on her bed in the dormitories. The book with the strange red cover, _Distinguished Families of Great Britain_ , had turned out to be a rather boring if informative compilation. Hermione had, at this point, more or less skipped through it, only reading the parts that interested her the most. She had read about the Malfoys, the Greengrasses, Prewetts, about the Minister's family, and even about some of her classmates like the Bones and Abbotts. The biggest surprise had been the Longbottoms, though. Who would have thought that the soft-spoken and likeable if somewhat unremarkable Gryffindor was part of a _very_ important clan of pure-bloods that were nearly on equal grounds in prestige with the Prewetts? Their political pull might, in fact, be even greater. The book speculated about political connections that were way over her head, about ancestry, foreign connections and a lot more. The Blacks, she thought, had the most frustrating yet insightful entry of them all.

'Of the Black family that has been heralded throughout Britain and Europe, we shall not say too much. From believable rumours, we are fairly certain in stating that this particularly influential, semi-patrilineal clan of magicians has been prominent for at least 800 years and originally hailed from eastern France. Stories of their vast fortunes are at least as prominent as those of their legendary vengeance if it is ever called upon. Due to recent political events, all records, notes, paintings, family trees and letters are lost to us.'

Hermione carefully read the last sentence yet another time. _What do they mean, the records are lost? How can_ all _records suddenly cease to exist?_ It was a mystery, and Hermione loved solving mysteries. _Due to recent political events_ , she repeated in her head again. Hesitantly, she reached for one of her other new treasures. She would have preferred to read _Political Events of the 20_ _th_ _Century and their Impact on European Magical Societies_ last, so that she could not only recognise the big names but also understand the underlying strife and conflicts due to her study of _Manners or Malevolence?,_ but, apparently, it was not to be.

She was just about to have a look at around 1946, the date when the almanac on pure-blood families had been written, in her new history book when the door to the dormitories slammed open with a bang. Jumping a bit, Hermione looked up from her books. Daphne was thundering into the room, Tracey being dragged along in her wake.

'What's going on?' Hermione asked curiously.

Daphne whirled around, looking at her. Then she ascertained whether any of the other girls was present as well. When she finally was sure they were alone, her face broke into childish delight, and she nearly screamed in excitement, 'Harry's awake! We're going down to see him right now!' Her face was so positively glowing with giddiness, that Hermione had to fight down a laugh.

'Really?' she asked eagerly. 'Can I go see him, too?'

Daphne's smile collapsed like a building that suddenly missed its first few floors. 'I...don't want that. Not tonight.'

Hermione looked down in disappointment. 'Why not? I want to see Harry as well...' she said earnestly.

'It's just...I don't...But...' Daphne stammered, her eyes flickering from Hermione to Tracey until the shorter girl came forth and gently took hold of Hermione's hand.

'You can come with us tomorrow, alright, Honey? Daphne and Harry are really, really close. I don't think he'll be able to talk very much tonight anyway to be honest, but tell that to the overzealous little child behind me.'

'I'm not a child!' Daphne stomped her foot petulantly. 'And I'm not overzealous!' She quivered for a second. 'Come on, Tracey. Let's go already, we're wasting time!'

Tracey snickered and rolled her eyes. 'See what I mean?' she whispered to Hermione, chuckling brightly.

Hermione nodded reluctantly, giving the diminutive witch in front of her a small smile. 'Okay, but you promise you'll take me along tomorrow?'

'You bet,' Tracey said, her eyes dancing merrily. She looked down at Hermione's bed and raised an eyebrow before crouching down to pick up the work on British families Draco had given her. Tracey softly shook her head. 'Honey, you really should want to hide illegal intelligence reports better than dropping them on your bed.'

Hermione wagged her head like a child trying to get water out of its ears. _Surely she hadn't caught that right._ 'Ehm, you're kidding, right, Tracey?'

Tracey grinned at her obvious cluelessness. 'I'm totally, deadly serious right now, Honey. If you get caught with that, it's expulsion and, at the very least, permanent surveillance for life for you,' the girl with the golden eyes informed her happily, ignoring the blabbering sounds Hermione tried to articulate into coherent words. She also had a look at the other books. 'Ooh, I know that one,' she said, pointing at the sociological study. 'That's a good one, good on you to have been given that.'

That broke her out of her reverie. 'You know whom it originally belongs to?'

Tracey's amusement grew, if possible, even further. 'You're saying you don't?'

'Traaacey!' Daphne's whiny voice floated in from beyond the door. 'Hurry, hurry, hurry!'

Tracey tittered again. 'Look, I've got to go. Daphne won't calm down until we see Harry. Do take care of those books, Honey. Oh, and go for chapter seventeen in the political introduction. See you later!'

With that, the bubbly witch shot off towards the infirmary. Hermione blinked a few times. _She_ was _joking, wasn't she?_ Carefully, and with no small amount of fear, she opened the last page of the genealogy.

There, in proud letters with many a flourish and a very important looking coat of arms, stood:

'This confidential report is the sole property of the Department of Mysteries, British Ministry of Magic. Unauthorised review or disclosure may lead to judicial seizure of property and person in accordance with Wizengamot enactment 12a1592.'

 _Oh for the love of... That psychotic jerk is just doing whatever he wants with me! I swear I'll get him for this one of these days even if it's the last thing I'll ever do!_

 _~BLHD~_

Harry was still lying in his bed, mulling things over in his head, at least when he was awake. He couldn't exactly fathom how it had come to this, but he felt disconcertingly drained and weak. Maybe he was expecting too much too soon, but he couldn't help but worry slightly about how he periodically fell asleep due to fatigue. By now, it was night, and Harry, having been awake for nearly an hour now (which-sadly-was a record), tried to analyse the events that had led to his injuries as best as he could. He had followed...Tracey. A wounded Tracey. That much he remembered. Then a fight had ensued, during which Tracey was only noticeable by her absence. An imposter, then.

 _Merlin, it's good they unwittingly picked Tracey as their target. If it had been Draco or even Hermione, I'd probably have had to consider unpleasant alternatives..._

Harry heard the door of the infirmary open. _Oh, please no! Give me a break already!_ Gripping his wand under the sheet as tightly as he could, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

Two pairs of footsteps approached with what he considered careless levels of noise. Harry sighed inaudibly.

'Harry!' Daphne called excitedly. 'Harry, we've just heard that you've woken up. I've been worried sick, you kn...' The colouring of her voice changed so abruptly from enthusiasm to disappointment that Harry had to fight down a laugh. 'Aw, he's asleep again.'

He felt one of them coming even closer, probably examining him. 'Are you sure, Daphy?' Tracey eventually said, and Harry could just imagine her grinning. _Damn, Tracey!_

'What you...you think he's pretending?' Harry rather had the impression that Daphne considered feigning sleep a highly sinister crime worth unspeakable punishment.

'Well,' Tracey said with a chuckle, 'if he's really not awake, he won't mind us...checking, will he?'

'Oh! I like your thinking, Tracey!' Daphne returned eagerly. Before Harry knew what was happening, Daphne had climbed onto the bed, straddling him. 'He totally won't mind a little good-night kiss, don't you think?'

'Nah, just go for it, Sweetie!' Tracey egged her on, laughing friskily.

Harry snapped his eyes open as fast as he could. 'I'm awake!' he proclaimed as loudly as he dared, sitting up a bit.

Daphne looked equal parts happy to see him and playfully disappointed that she'd been robbed of the opportunity. Nervously, Harry realised that his cousin didn't bother to move from her rather precarious position. 'You know, Harry,' she said, grinning mischievously, 'I think I'll have to punish you either way for trying to weasel your way out of this.'

'Y-you wouldn't,' he protested, aghast.

Daphne steadily closed the distance between their faces, her smile slowly receding. 'Oh, I think I will. What are you going to do about it?' she asked matter-of-factly.

'I...b-but!' Before Harry could finish his weak protests, Daphne flung herself onto him, trapping him in a fierce embrace that really hurt his washed-up body, burying her face in the nape of his neck.

'I was so worried!' she cried out, her voice slightly muffled as she refused to let go of him. 'You pull some kind of crap again, land yourself here, seriously injured... T-they didn't even tell us if you'd be okay! And y-you not speaking to us either...' Harry felt something hot sprinkling his neck. 'I w-was so worried.' Daphne stammered on, holding him even closer as if to make sure he wouldn't suddenly disappear.

Harry relaxed a bit despite the embarrassment and pain in his ribs. Patting her back a bit, he mumbled soothingly, 'I'm okay, Daphne.'

But she didn't respond, shaking her head in denial, shedding tears without abashment. Harry cast an imploring look over Daphne's shoulder towards Tracey, who looked back at him, shrugging her shoulders helplessly.

'It's good you're okay, Harry,' she said, smiling softly as her gaze alternated between Harry and her best friend. 'We've been down here to check on you nearly every day, you know? You really don't know how rude it is to make the ladies wait for you like that.'

Daphne nodded without easing her grip, causing Harry to grin sheepishly. 'It was not exactly my choice to stand you up. But it sure is good to be back...'

'What happened, Harry?' Tracey asked, her voice serious now. 'They won't tell us.'

Harry exhaled deeply. 'Someone...ambushed me. They lured me into an abandoned corridor. From what I remember, I think there were about half a dozen of them, probably third years and upwards.'

'How did they get you there?' Tracey's gaze tore into his eyes. 'Surely you're not stupid enough to just walk into a trap like that.'

'They...' he paused again. 'I'm sorry, Tracey. I believe they used Polyjuice.'

The little witch's eyes widened in understanding. 'You mean...?'

Harry nodded, still rubbing Daphne's back to help her calm down.

Tracey frowned. 'Well, that just confirms our theory about a Slytherin being in on this. It wouldn't have been difficult to nick a few hairs from my bed or something.'

'Probably,' Harry agreed.

'So, what happened, then? Did you fight them off?' Tracey asked, businesslike.

'No,' he admitted. 'They were too numerous, I barely held steady with my shield. When I thought I saw an opening, I did...some charm or something, I don't really remember. It must have really hurt in the dark corridor, though, because I incapacitated them all, I think. But I still got caught by a _Blasting Curse_ in the process.'

Tracey winced a bit, and Daphne tightened her hold on him painfully. 'Ow, Daphne that hurts.' Harry tried to gently wiggle himself free. She shook her head again, loosening her grip a bit, but refusing to let go altogether.

'How'd you get out of there?' Tracey asked, smirking at their silent struggle.

'I...did not. I sent a message to Aenor,' he confessed. 'That's the last thing I hazily remember.'

Tracey, raising an eyebrow, spoke up at the same time as Daphne. 'Why her?' ' _Aenor_?'

Harry, blushing subtly, cleared his throat nervously. 'I, er, don't know. She was the first teacher I thought of.'

Tracey threw him a dirty look as if to make sure that he realised that she didn't approve one bit of his choice in help. 'I don't trust her, Harry.'

Harry sighed weakly. 'This is not the time for that conversation,' he mumbled half-heartedly.

'Oh, I think it is!' she returned vehemently. Harry felt Daphne nodding in agreement again.

'I know she's got an agenda, Tracey, but don't concern yourself with her.'

The girl narrowed her eyes. 'What do you mean?'

He rubbed his eyes with one hand, feeling the fatigue creeping up on him again. 'She's on a leash.'

Tracey looked at him for a while, struggling to understand before her eyes widened quite comically. 'She's got caught doing something stupid, then?'

Harry shook his head, chuckling a bit. 'More like was apprehended doing something unnecessary that my grandfather passively encouraged her to do.'

Daphne laughed gleefully. 'Uncle Arcturus is the best!'

'Of course, he is,' Harry admitted unblinkingly. 'Hey, wait a moment, you're not crying anymore!'

'Well, this is really cosy,' Daphne shot back unabashed, snuggling even closer to him for emphasis.

Tracey broke out in laughter, while Harry struggled for a few moments to disentangle himself from Daphne's hug. Eventually, she relented and sat back on her heels, still trapping his feet.

He glared at her half-heartedly.

'Aww, come on, Harry,' she pouted kittenishly, still rather beautiful, Harry had to admit, despite her red eyes. 'I know you didn't mind it all that much! Is it because of Tracey? I'm sure she'd give us a little space if that would make you feel more comfortable...'

Harry chose not to answer that question, mostly because he didn't really know how to respond. He wearily sank back into the pillow. 'I'm tired,' he mumbled.

'We'll let you get some sleep,' answered Tracey, swiftly moving her hand over Daphne's mouth to forestall the inevitable objection. 'Do you mind if we bring Hermione with us tomorrow?'

'I do not think,' he murmured sleepily, 'that matters very much at this point...'

 _~BLHD~_

Hermione stared eagerly at the page below her. She had barely left the dormitory since yesterday, completely swept up in her new reading.

'Chapter 17: Britain Going Dark

In the direct aftermath of the hard-won battle against the tides of evil that befell Europe in the form of the Dark Lord and his followers, the British Ministry turned its remaining power and focus inwards, reacting to the persistent rumours and accusations of corruption in the highest of echelons. For about a year, more than a dozen agents worked to gather evidence until, bolstered by the support of the recently and partially empowered Muggle-borns and half-bloods, a few popular pure-blood clans took it upon themselves to privately investigate several British departments, prominent political figures, and all those that had refused to join the cause against the aggressor alike, against the explicit wishes of the Chief Warlock Arcturus Black and more than half of the honourable members of the Wizengamot due to the inadmissibility of illegally acquired evidence in court.

But where the official investigators failed, the private research, not restrained by the slow turning wheels of bureaucracy, soon unearthed a baffling network of treasonous organisations and individuals that not only sought to profit from the war that laid waste to more than half of Europe, but actively sabotaged the allied countermeasures to prolong their window of opportunity or obfuscate the trail or their misdeeds.

In the following days, Minister Gerold Prewett, father of the prominent, young Head-Auror, acting in concert with the investigations, called for a highly controversial emergency meeting of the Wizengamot and proceeded to expose all those the investigators had, with a reasonable amount of proof, found guilty of high treason.

Amongst the cries of outrage from the Wizengamot against the highly irregular proceedings some understandably labelled a 'witch-hunt', the name Sirius Black II¹ rang loudest. In the ensuing ruckus that temporarily culminated in a scuffle in the ancient halls of the Wizengamot, many fervently called out for the heads of the families that had cost the country nearly fifteen years of war and victims beyond number amongst both the magicals and those these brave defenders so desperately tried to protect.

In an apparent response to the drastically effervescing minds all around, Arcturus Black III, in his last act as Chief Warlock, invoked the ancient law of _recondebamus familias_ , an obscure and thitherto long forgotten magical act last invoked more than a thousand years ago, that effectively declared most knowledge of the ancient families associated with the British Wizengamot, the most pertinent being all external records of their family trees, forbidden, essentially depriving the frothing mob of any base from which to accuse further families.

It has often been speculated whether this was done to protect Arcturus Black's family from the backlash of Sirius Black's notional guilt, but the truth is that as soon as the enactment came into force, all public knowledge regarding possible family ties between the two Blacks became void. Arcturus Black fled from the Ministry long before the masses had even taken note of his deed, vanishing with the rest of those called Black for about twenty-five years from the face of the earth. Arcturus Black was, despite his laudable and immaculate administration until that day, deposed from his office within the hour, marking him as one of the most controversial figures in modern British history.

In the following years, many families unilaterally revoked the _recondebamus familias_ , making their family background once again a matter of public record. Some, however, chose to embrace the anonymity offered to them, and to this day continue to shroud their familial ties, to the deep suspicion of the public, who, incited by those that felt offended by the special privileges offered to the old families, coined the term 'Darker' in reference to the Muggle proverb 'to go dark'. The Blacks, by now believed to indeed form a single main branch, remain special even among those that refused to reopen their files: through powerful magic unknown, this clan of pure-bloods has managed to hide not only their family ties and members, but also their whereabouts and history, ultimately obscuring most knowledge of their family line. In fact, only the knowledge of Sirius and Arcturus Black, as well as the general understanding of their relative importance remains behind now, and even the most celebrated Occlumens of our age prove to be susceptible to this phenomenon. According to specialists of the Department of Mysteries and famous Sorcerers all around the world who have extensively studied the magic that was called upon, only newly acquired information seems exempt from these frustrating locks on our memories.

For more information, see also pages 229, 395, 402 and 742.'

Hermione looked up, shivering involuntarily, an echo of the warning Tracey had spoken to her in late fall spooking unbidden through her mind: 'The Blacks have a nasty past, Hermione. If there ever was a family deserving the stigma placed upon them, it would be that one. They still have power and they still have some rather scary things going on. Better be careful, Honey...'

 _~BLHD~_

Later that evening, Hermione stood uneasily between her two housemates. She hadn't been sure if she wanted to come at all, but in light of her determination to bridge the gap between their upbringings and her decision to apologise to Harry, she had convinced herself to not duck out.

Tracey eyed her, grinning slightly. 'You read chapter seventeen, I take it, Honey?'

Hermione was careful to avoid both girls' gazes, nodding guardedly. She didn't want them to think her weak-willed or mousy, but, on the other hand, she really couldn't deny that the article had left a very strong impression on her. _It's really hard to gauge the age of old wizards and witches. I would never have guessed Dumbledore's real age if I hadn't read about it in a book. If the wizard who took down Professor Prewett really was Lord Black, then it is not completely unthinkable that Arcturus Black III, Lord Black, and Harry's grandfather of whom he told me are one and the same person._ Hermione shivered again. 'It really is quite chilly in the corridors, don't you think?' she asked conversationally, her voice rather shrill.

Daphne smirked viciously at her. 'Having second thoughts, Granger?'

Tracey looked at her with an unreadable expression. 'Well, it's good to have a healthy dose of respect, Hermione, but it still is Harry we're visiting. Just Harry.'

Hermione unclenched her fist and nodded again, smiling ruefully at the both of them. 'It's just a bit much to take in, I guess.'

Daphne shrugged, but Tracey smiled back. 'Of course it is, Honey. And don't get me wrong; I'm not saying we withhold information because of reasons like this, but what do you think you'd have done if I had told you everything you so far know about Harry on your first night at Hogwarts?'

Hermione jerked to a halt. 'I,' she admitted in a small voice, 'I don't think I would have been able to try to get close to him thereafter.' It was a shameful thing to say, but she couldn't deny the truth of it.

'I bet,' Daphne commented dryly. 'Well, try your best, Granger. Harry really doesn't need another gawker, fan, enemy or anyone who fears him for who he is. If you want to do yourself and him a favour, just try to act the same way towards him like you did on your first day at Hogwarts.'

Hermione nodded, more determined than before.

Tracey beamed at Daphne. 'Daphy, it's so nice of you to give Hermione such good advice!'

'What?' Daphne shot back, eyes wide open.

'You've just buried the hatchet, and now you're giving her such cool, mature advice. I'm so proud of you, Sweetie!'

Daphne looked away from Hermione. 'I'm just doing this for Harry, just so we're clear. Got it, Granger?'

'Ehm, yes. I think so, Greengrass,' Hermione responded, not sure that she really did.

'Good,' the girl returned, more forcefully this time. 'Now, can we hurry along?'

Not too long after their little interlude, the girls entered the infirmary. But, contrary to what they had anticipated, they weren't the only visitors.

'You!' Tracey snapped, pointing her finger rudely. 'What are you doing here?!'

Daphne immediately stood shoulder to shoulder with her best friend, arms crossed. 'Is it really proper for teachers to visit their students alone?' she asked angrily. 'Some people are prone to gossip, you know.'

Professor Rose smiled sweetly in return. 'So good of you to join us, Miss Davis, Miss Greengrass. Though I did enjoy the hours I spent in private with Harry, a bit of comic relief is very much appreciated now and then.' She peered behind the wall of angry girls. 'Oh, Miss Granger! You're very welcome here, by the way.'

'What do you mean, private hours?!' Daphne demanded hotly, nearly running towards Harry, taking a demonstrative stand on the other side of his bed. 'And did you mean to infer that we're not welcome here?'

'Oh, dear me,' Rose returned in apparent horror. 'I'm simply startled how you reached such a conclusion, Miss Greengrass. But you really needn't worry: I won't overtax the half-empty brains of hormone-driven, snotty-nosed brats with innuendos if I can help it. After all, why waste my breath?'

Harry coughed loudly, but Tracey's shrill voice easily drowned him out. 'Oh? Big words! But here you are: embarrassingly desperate to hide your own age by trying to get the attention of someone you should by law, custom and profession, be responsible for!'

Harry coughed again but found it as futile as the first time.

'The way I see it,' Daphne nearly shouted at their smirking Defence professor, 'you're just jealous. Did you know that I was here yesterday night? Harry was very affectionate, and afterwards, he cuddled up with me!'

'That's not how I remember it at all!' Harry shouted out hotly, his entire face red by now. 'And Tracey was here, too!' Yet once again, Aenor and the two girls chose to ignore him.

'Ehm, hello, Harry,' Hermione finally called out in a low voice.

He slowly turned towards her, clearly reluctant to discontinue protesting his innocence. 'Oh hello, Hermione. Are you alright?'

'I'm fine,' she said, avoiding his eyes. 'I'm glad that you're awake again. You don't look so bad.'

He shrugged dispassionately, though she still saw him cast a worried look towards the girls and their teacher every once in awhile. 'I'm mostly very sleepy, and my ribs are still quite tender. Other than that, I feel fine, I guess.'

'That's good to hear,' she said earnestly, nodding over the increasingly hostile noise in the background. 'I...I want to apologise, Harry.'

He looked at her, blinking twice.

'I know I overstepped my bounds that one time after class, and I'm really sorry I hurt you. I know it's not much of an excuse, but I just didn't know any better. I'm also really sorry it's taken me so long to apologise...'

Harry looked at her, shifting uncomfortably in his bed. 'Yeah, well, please let's just forget all that. I'm not too eager to talk about it.'

'You don't need to!' she said hastily. 'I just...I just wanted to ask you if we could...move on...as if that Charms lesson never happened.' Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. Hermione thought that he _did_ look very tired. She couldn't believe that she'd indeed been a bit afraid of him. _It must be quite hard for him to actually make friends with anyone. With pure-bloods, he might always be wondering if they're just friendly because of the Blacks._ 'Please?' She looked him in the eye. 'I really just want to be...friends.' He still seemed to be struggling, but she just stood next to his bed, awaiting his decision and, like him, completely tuning out the angry tohu-bohu behind her. _Was that the sound of a spell being cast? Can't be..._

Finally, Harry nodded slowly. 'Well, alright, I guess. Let's just start over. But please don't do...that...ever again, Hermione.'

'I promise, Harry,' she vowed earnestly.

He nodded. After a while, he seemed to shake something off and levelled a much friendlier smile her way. 'So? I gather you've been receiving some rudimentary lessons? Who's teaching you? Tracey? I somehow don't think it's Daphne...'

'It's Draco, actually,' she returned, grimacing slightly.

Harry laughed loudly, and she was glad that it seemed genuine. 'I bet he's being a sneaky bastard about it.'

Hermione didn't hold in the groan that rose within her. 'You have NO idea. He's already had me fear for my life and crying all over him. At least he had the decency to console me a bit afterwards.'

Harry looked rather taken aback. 'He did?'

'Yes, he did. Why?' she asked, unable to decipher his expression.

'Oh, nothing. Well, if you can put up with him, I suppose he would make a fine teacher. He is rather knowledgeable about such things.'

'Yes, I figured as much.' Hermione nodded in thought. 'But so are you, aren't you?'

He smirked a bit. 'I suppose so, but I still think I should lay low until this whole mess is resolved. Stick to Draco for the time being. If he gives you trouble, just try asking him questions that subtly massage his ego. You'll see what I mean.'

Hermione looked up, eager to file this bit of information away. 'Oh, I'll be sure to test it out!'

'What in Merlin's name is going on here?' Hermione looked around to see the matron entering with Professor Snape in tow. Following her gaze, she spotted Greengrass and Tracey lying on the ground, rubbing their behinds, wands at their feet. Professor Rose, arms crossed and a small, smug grin on her lips, stood above them.

'How dare you throw spells in the infirmary!' The matron protested more in shock than anger.

'We need to have a word with Mr Black now that he's on his way to recovery. I suggest you all clear out, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis, Miss Granger. Aenor, this is a matter of House Slytherin. Your presence is not required.'

Aenor's eyes twitched for a second. Snape looked in calculating scrutiny at his colleague, clearly weighing the unusual reaction of the otherwise aloof Defence professor. 'As you wish, Severus.' She shot one last look towards the younger Black, and he smiled at her. Harry couldn't be quite sure, because she turned around exactly that moment, but he rather had the impression she had winked at him.

'We need to talk, Mr Black.' Harry blinked, having difficulties to return to the present from his thoughts. Surprisingly, it was the matron who had addressed him. Even more surprising was her tone: it was icy, disappointed and very strained.

'What about?' Harry asked, complete baffled, looking from one serious face to another.

'About this!' Pomfrey hissed irately, pulling up his left sleeve and forcefully turning his arm around.

'Oh,' Harry said weakly. 'That.'

'Oh? That's all you have to say? If I didn't know you so well, I'd have called the Aurors straight away! Now don't play games with me, and make me reconsider!' Pomfrey shouted at him.

Harry just blinked again. _Well, as often as I've been here, it's a wonder it took her so long to find it._ He looked towards the long, purple scar that disfigured his arm. _A certain amount of honesty may be needed here..._ 'What do you wish to know?'

Snape stepped forward. 'You are aware that the use of blood magic is strictly forbidden and justiciable for no fewer than five years in Azkaban?' His voice was cold as usual, but his eyes bore into Harry's with a ferocity that made him turn his head away.

'Yes,' he said demurely.

'Harry,' Pomfrey said gravely. Harry noted the renewed use of his first name. 'We have so far refrained from informing the headmaster, but if you don't cooperate with us and tell us about it, we will have little choice.'

Harry turned his head around, glaring fiercely and defiantly at her. _So, they wanted to hear a story? Well, that shouldn't be any problem!_

'It's no use. It is obvious that he will tell us no truths,' said Snape peevishly.

'Couldn't you...?' Pomfrey seemed hesitant about whatever she hinted, but the Potions Master only shook his head.

'No. Whatever his other deficiencies, I can clearly see that we will have no luck with that approach unless I use extreme amounts of force.'

'No, out of the question.' Pomfrey shook her head.

'We might,' Snape said silkily, 'have another option.' He reached within his robes. One second later, his fingers held an adorned green little phial with a very clear liquid.

'Merlin, no! Do you realise that you're committing a crime just threatening me with that?' Harry cried out in shock, reeling back.

'Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.' Snape sneered. 'What choice do you leave us? We will not leave the matter as it is, I assure you.'

Harry spun his head towards the matron and felt his heart sink. Even though her trepidation was easy to spot, it was clear that she was beginning to look rather determined.

'I want a guarantor,' he hissed angrily, 'who ensures that you ask no questions that are of no consequence to this!' In this situation, it was probably better to salvage whatever he could.

Snape nodded.

'Cranky!' Harry commanded. The ancient creature apparated directly on his bed, miraculously without disturbing his wounded body.

'Master Harry called?' the old creature asked with a sense of urgency.

'I will submit myself to Veritaserum, Cranky.'

The elf's eyes bulged in alarm. 'NO!' he shouted in a croaky voice. 'Cranky cannot allow Master Harry to do that! This is pure folly!' The old elf look extremely spirited all of a sudden, the docile severity shed like a skin.

Harry looked up at the elf who towered over him, his arms crossed like a miniature avatar of defiance. 'Cranky...' Harry mumbled softly.

'No! Cranky will not allow Master Harry to take such a risk, no matter the circumstance!' The elf's glare was quite fierce for one of their kind.

'Do you really think I'd do anything to endanger the family like that?' Harry hissed menacingly. 'And mind your tongue in present company!'

The elf didn't even turn around, as if the Potions Master and matron were clearly beneath him. But he still held Harry in a fiery glare.

'If Professor Snape asks any question about the Blacks, my personal history, or those of our affiliates, kill him!' Harry commanded the old creature.

'Harry!' the matron cried out.

At the same time, the elf's expression turned into a nasty grin, and he stood above Harry, his fingers outstretched and pointing at Snape. 'With pleasure, Master Harry.'

'I'm sorry, Madame Pomfrey, but there is absolutely no middle ground for this. If you can't agree to my conditions, then I'll take my chances with the Wizengamot and charge you for threatening the heir of a noble house with magical enslavement.'

Pomfrey looked in clear betrayal at her student, while his Potions professor examined him in cool composure. 'It seems we have reached an impasse.' His voice was still smooth, no hint of concern detectable at all.

 _I have to admit his control is somewhat unnerving. Or does he think Cranky isn't able to harm him? Every wizard worth his salt should know that any normal house-elf is dangerous enough when ordered to harm. Without a wand, he's basically already a pile of gore on the floor. And Cranky is not exactly normal by any standard. This is anything but ideal, but the threat of Azkaban is at least as real for him as it is for me. Even with Dumbledore's protection, should he have it, the case is by no means a forgone conclusion. Maybe I should push a bit more..._

'I will also not stand any question regarding the specific time, place or even the nature of the magic involved in the incident.'

'This is no game, Mr Black!' Snape spat, and Harry was glad to see that he had broken through his facade.

'I agree. But this is no investigation either, Professor. You just wish to make sure that your poor student hasn't strayed from the path of the true and just, don't you?' He smirked confidently.

To his overwhelming surprise, his Head of House slowly broke into a mean grin himself. 'I see that your grandfather has not only been teaching you magic. Maybe you are indeed more of a Black than I gave you credit for, but still you have severely underestimated me, Mr Black. I consent to the terms of your proposal.'

Harry nearly jumped in shock, eyes widening. But there was nothing for it now. He had bluffed and Snape had called. _Merlin, I hope he knows what he's doing. If he asks the wrong questions, Arcturus will have his head, and I don't think I'd be able to return to Hogwarts..._

Harry squirmed a bit, but in the end, allowed Pomfrey to dose him with three drops of the tasteless potion. _How I wish I was an Occlumency prodigy right now._

'I think it would be best if you didn't speak for the next few minutes, Poppy. In the interest of your own security.' The woman paled but nodded nevertheless.

Snape fixed him with his small coal-like eyes, one arm supporting the other while he scratched his chin. Then, he smirked. 'Have you used forbidden or restricted magic during your stay at Hogwarts.'

'Yes,' Harry answered through gritted teeth.

'Did you harm anyone with your attempt?'

'...Only myself.' Harry tried with all his might to resist the effect of the potion, but it was like swimming up a waterfall. He could-maybe-prolong the inevitable for a time, but the pressure just kept building up.

'Did you _intend_ anyone harm? Besides yourself, I mean.' Snape narrowed his eyes.

'No,' was the answer that forced itself through Harry's unwilling lips.

'Is there any residue of the spellwork left that could potentially pose harm to anyone who unwarily stumbles upon the place where you performed your magic?'

'No, do you think I'm stupid?' Harry blinked. That...was a pleasant surprise. It seems as if his inhibitions were partly removed by the potions. 'Sorry, sir,' he added with a grin. 'Wouldn't have said that if it weren't for the highly restricted and illegal potion you made me consume, I assure you.'

Snape scowled at him, though Harry had the distinct impression that Pomfrey's mouth quivered for a second.

'Do you intend to bring about, plan, or foresee a situation where you will resort to...whatever forbidden magic you used?'

Harry grinned roguishly before he let loose. 'Sweet Morgana's tits, no! That one time hurt like shit already.' He refrained from laughing at their faces, but it really was quite humorous in his humble opinion. As long as he was speaking true, he could phrase it however he wanted.

But the next question stifled his good mood as effectively as a pillow to the face in the dead of the night. 'Did Aenor Rose teach you that magic?' Snape asked shrewdly.

'No,' Harry answered darkly, thunderclouds for all who cared to look easy to see in his expression. 'But if you go further down that road, I think I may have to rethink the terms of our arrangement,' he growled.

Snape looked as unimpressed as ever, but Pomfrey laid a hand on his shoulder.

'Harry,' Pomfrey spoke up, shocking not only him but Snape as well. 'Have you ever injured a student at Hogwarts in anything but self-defence?'

'NO!' he shouted furiously. Then he turned his head away from them and spoke in a lower voice. 'I wish all those people would just leave me alone.'

Harry didn't turn back towards them again. After a while, he heard Pomfrey break the silence again. 'That's enough, Severus. It's clear enough that he didn't mean harm with whatever's been done. I won't condone any more questions.'

After a few seconds, Snape silently administered the antidote to Harry, who eyed him with an expression of pronounced disgust.

'It might have hurt your pride a bit, Mr Black,' he said as he nodded to Pomfrey and turned away, 'but I feel like a bit of credibility will make your stay at Hogwarts a good deal easier for the foreseeable future. Especially with the headmaster and Prewett.' He shot one last and swift look towards him, gazing straight into his eyes as if devouring them. But then the moment passed, and just as abruptly, he turned away and stormed out of the infirmary. 'I'll be watching, Mr Black.'

Pomfrey fussed a bit and gave him several potions to drink. But he didn't respond to her ministrations. While he felt touched by the amount of faith she had in him, it was a _very_ foolish question to ask him.

When the matron had vanished to her study again, he finally turned to Cranky, who had taken a seat at the end of his bed and stared soulfully at him. His eyes burned with a question he seemed to be unwilling to ask.

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. 'You may tell Grandfather, Cranky. But be sure to tell him that I'd rather like to let the matter rest for now. It is true that Snape has just gotten his hands on compelling evidence to support my case should the need ever arise.' He thought for a bit, before sheepishly adding, 'Arise anew, I should probably say. And seeing as the evidence is completely useless in court, it shouldn't prove to be too much of a problem later on.'

Cranky nodded. 'Cranky will do as Master Harry commands. But what about the Potions Master? He's a sneaky one.'

'Yes,' Harry agreed. 'I suppose he is. I appreciate that you didn't react when he mentioned Aenor, Cranky. I think he actually wanted to find out how close of a connection she has with us.' The elf nodded emphatically. 'Maybe we should dig something up, just in case. But then, I didn't have the impression that grandfather was all too concerned with him. I think he'll know how to handle him.'

'Master Harry should rest now,' the elf said with a force that brokered no argument. 'Minnie has been instructed to provide aid for you from within the castle for the time being.'

'I know,' Harry mumbled drowsily as he let his head fall back towards the cushion.

'Thank you for your hard work, Master Harry.' He vaguely saw the elf bow, and a small poof later, the young Black was alone.

 _~BLHD~_

Days passed without anything particularly dramatic happening to Hermione, which, she thought, was a good thing. She had secretly visited Harry a few more times and was very glad that he was just about to be released by Madam Pomfrey. Their little talks had also gone a long way in reassuring her that her current course of action wasn't absolutely hopeless, though Harry still made a point of telling her that Draco had indeed not lied about the difficulties even dedicated Muggle-borns faced in traditional pure-blood circles.

Still, the books Draco had lent her were truly captivating, though she had to admit that the discovery that one of them could potentially land her in prison had made her rather jumpy for a few days. But all the same, it felt like diving into a strange new world all over again, yet this time she could peer at the root of it; she simply couldn't resist the temptation. Even though the books were uniquely helpful for her, she still could soon see the limitations in their use. While she could, for example, glimpse what wizards and witches perceived as especially irksome about Muggle society and therefore deduce the differences in their mannerisms, there were no positive examples given: While she knew by now that magicals had a very specific way of greeting one another, there was no picture or...tutorial on how to do so.

She sighed. It was probably true that she was at the mercy of Draco and Tracey. Maybe Harry would give her a few hints as well. He had promised to help when the general situation improved for him, after all.

Hermione shut the book with a snap. This was ridiculous. She would just have to go for it and learn what she could as she went by. Maybe Harry had a few books at home she could read. There really had to be some perks to coming from a vilified family of notoriously powerful witches and wizards. Hogwart's library, she was disappointed to find out, had nothing on the topic. After Draco's angry rant, she couldn't help but suspect that those books had been removed at someone's behest to appease the Muggle-borns.

The whole discussion had not been easy for her. At first, she thought it was so simple: Muggle-borns were new, eager and generally meant well, how could that pose a problem? She had only slowly come to understand that the wizarding world was a living and rather slow moving construct to which the Muggle-borns were...an outside influence. Not malicious certainly, but still volatile. And now that she thought about it, it was easy to see what angered the pure-bloods. For many Muggle-borns, the robes, the owls, the parchment; that was all nothing more than a commodity, a costume at most. They did it because they mimicked it, because it was expected, but they never truly believed in that style of living, in the philosophies taught to them.

It was, she mused, for the most part just an act.

A Muggle-born felt as comfortable in robes as an oyster in the Sahara. As soon as classes were over, most of them tossed their robes away and started talking about some TV-show or something that alienated the pure-bloods and only served to divide them further. It was easy to blame both parties, Hermione thought, but by now she could at least comprehend how those that embraced pure-blood society felt offended when Muggle-borns refused to integrate. From their perspective, Muggle-borns were immigrants.

 _~BLHD~_

It was curfew by now. Hermione hurried through the cold corridors, shivering slightly as a particularly icy draught swept through the ancient castle. _I'd better get to the dungeons soon. A Gryffindor or Hufflepuff Prefect would just love to get Slytherin's pet-Muggle-born for something like this._ Hermione coloured a bit at the thought that she had simply forgotten the time in the library until Madam Pince had informed her that curfew was five minutes off.

Hermione walked speedily around the corner. _Just one more corridor and I can get down into the dungeons._

'Gotcha, little firsty!'

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, one foot in the process of taking another step. Slowly and very regretfully, she turned around to have a look at who had caught her.

In the frame of a window that stood gaping wide open sat a female prefect that seemed rather familiar, even in the dark gloom that veiled her presence. _No wonder it's so cold if people sit in the open windows in the middle of the night! Who does that?!_

'Miss Fawley?' she called out, cursing the slight quiver in her voice.

The figure cocked her head. 'Oh, Hermione!' the fifth year prefect called out, much friendlier. 'Didn't recognise you there for a second. What are you doing here? It's surely past curfew by now.'

'I kind of forgot the time in the library, to be honest.' She smiled guiltily. 'Madam Pince just kicked me out.'

Fawley chuckled good-naturedly. 'That old boot, yeah, she does that.' The older girl returned to staring out of the window. If Hermione hadn't known better, she would have guessed that she was trying to soak the night right up. Fawley seemed to be in a rather melancholic mood.

'What are you doing here?' Hermione asked curiously. Then, she remembered their positions. 'I...I mean, if you don't mind me asking. Aren't you cold? I'm freezing!'

Fawley smiled gently and swished her wand in Hermione's direction, who felt her robes begin to warm up from within. 'Wow!' Hermione sighed, purring contentedly. 'That feels nice with the breeze from the window.'

'Doesn't it?' the prefect asked, nodding chummily. 'And to answer your question, I love the night.'

Hermione didn't quite know if she was supposed to ask or not, so she settled for looking questioningly while keeping her mouth shut.

'Haha, I see you've gotten a bit better with your conduct.' The prefect winked at her, smirking at the faint blush that crept up into Hermione's face. 'Don't sweat it so much. Sometimes you have to let loose.' The blond with her curly hair turned towards the open window again, her mane fluttering gently in the winter breeze. For a time, they enjoyed the companionable silence. Hermione was especially fond of the warming charm the older girl had so effortlessly demonstrated and vowed to look it up in the library the very next day.

'You know, I always thought the night was the most interesting time of the day. Most people are asleep, the air is fresh and cool and everything is a bit quieter. No noise, no tedious tasks, no boring people. Everything you do at night is simply a bit more special.'

Hermione squirmed a bit under the cheeky yet friendly compliment the other girl had given her. But Fawley laughed again. 'Oh, come on, Hermione. You're the first Muggle-born in Slytherin in an eternity, and you're not doing too shabby for yourself right now. I'd gladly have more of you if that meant fewer Yaxleys.' She grinned rascally. 'You don't happen to have any brothers or sisters, do you?'

'Ehm, no, sorry,' she said meekly, completely swept up in the friendly, if strange, girl by the window.

'Aw, I guess you can't have everything.'

'Do...do you have siblings, Miss Fawley?' Hermione asked quietly.

'Yeah, a little brother. He's such a sweetie.' Her gaze returned towards the night. 'I think I'd do anything to protect him...' After a while, she spoke again, even though her mind seemed far away. 'That's what matters, in the end. Sure, there are politics and whatnot, but if you really think about it, most pure-blood families just look out for their own. If you protect those you love, it's not so difficult to think in terms of "them" and "us"...'

Suddenly, she jumped down from the windowsill. 'Come on, I'll escort you back to the common room. If you wander into a teacher, he might think you snuck off to meet with a boy.'

'What?' Hermione exclaimed loudly. 'I've never...I wouldn't...' she stammered.

The girl nudged her in the ribs conspiratorially. 'You sure? Are you really suuure? I think Black will turn out pretty hot in a year or two...' She giggled. 'It wouldn't hurt to stake your claim early, don't you think?'

Hermione was deep red by now. 'It's not like that! We're just friends, honestly!'

The other girl broke out in exuberant laughter, putting an arm around her shoulder. 'First years are so fun to tease! Man, I'll never get tired of this! It's good we met tonight, Hermione.'

'W-why?' Hermione asked, still fighting her embarrassment.

'Why not, I say!' She gently squeezed Hermione's shoulder as they walked down towards the dungeons. When they were nearly at the entrance, the other girl smiled down at her. 'You never know when you get the next chance. That's my motto! Make every night special for as long as you can.' She gave Hermione a friendly little shove. 'You better get inside, Hermione. I'll have to complete my rounds, or Snape will chew my ear off again.'

'You call hanging out on the windowsill "completing rounds"?' Hermione asked, grinning back.

'Aw, come on, give a girl a break or two.' Still chuckling, the prefect waved at her and turned around, her measured and confident stride taking her into the depths of the louring night.

Hermione couldn't help but smile as she turned towards the entrance of the common room. _I wanted to tell Draco that we should do his little test, but now I really don't want to ruin my mood. Let's just pretend everything is fine and do it tomorrow. Once in awhile, it really can't hurt, can it?_

 _~BLHD~_

Hermione knocked twice on the door, feeling quite nervous.

'Enter!'

She entered and surveyed their usual meeting place. The seventh corridor was one of those that was completely devoid of regularly used class or clubrooms. Draco had once told her that more than half of the castle wasn't actually used, and as far as he knew, it had always been a bit like that.

Hermione bit her lip as she saw Draco, who was seated in what had once been the teacher's chair. He sat by the windows and stared at her. He gave no sign or reaction at all, except for his...somewhat creepy gaze.

Hermione bowed like she had seen others do at times. Then, she remained silent, observing him in turn. Every fibre of her body urged her to break the silence, but she forced herself to remain quiet.

Eventually, Draco spoke up. 'Good evening.'

'Good evening, Mr Malfoy,' she said timidly.

'Ugh, your posture is bad. You need to keep your back straight when you bow. Also, as long as you are socially beneath the one you bow to, lower your eyes. Never raise your chin to look into someone's eyes, except if you want to insult someone, or if you feel superior. Your bow should also, at least in Europe, reflect your relative social standing, meaning accentuating the bow deeper if you consider yourself beneath the other. You need to keep your feet together and your arms straight but relaxed. Try to make them parallel, in front and behind your body respectively. It does not need to look overly strained, try to make it graceful and slow instead. Also, don't bite your lip. It's a sure sign of your insecurity, and you do it all the time. At least refrain from doing so on official occasions. Now, I'm glad you had the sense to wait for me to speak, but, and I am quite serious here, never ever call me Mr Malfoy!' He shivered as if something cold or slimy had touched him. 'It sounds _wrong_ on so many levels...'

She looked at him questioningly, forcing him to sigh again. 'Well, to be honest, you failed abysmally in about twenty seconds, but I'm not sure you'll do better on your own even if I give you the time. Are you sure you want to go through with this? I won't mince my words, you know.'

Hermione snorted. _Oh, really?! That's completely news to me!_ 'Yes, I want to go through with it!'

He fixed her in a cold and measuring stare.

'Don't pull that crap with me again!' she mumbled angrily. 'Use your stupid psycho tricks on somebody else!'

He smiled proudly at her. 'Okay.'

'Wait, that's it?' she asked the infuriating jerk, surprised by his switch in attitude to what seemed like genuine comradeship.

'Of course, Hermione. I'd never do anything you wouldn't want me to,' he said in an honest voice that made her take a step back to look if she was still talking to Draco.

Then she blinked. 'Argh! Stop it!' she shouted, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

He laughed rambunctiously and got up from his seat. 'You're too easy, Granger! We'll start tomorrow night. We'll have a look at the background of a few people at Hogwarts and try to figure out who could have a motive or shoddy connection to Harry. Meanwhile, we'll also look at who's been acting particularly suspicious and try to find out if those people could have the motive to involve themselves with the Blacks, no matter the risks.'

'And how are we going to do that?' she asked suspiciously.

'Oh, I've been gathering a few notes on some people. Nothing excessive. I told you we'd be doing some paperwork.'

'Just...paperwork, right?' she asked, her eyes narrowing.

'Of course, Granger. Just a bit of paperwork,' he said, his grey eyes shining with mirth.

 _This can't be good,_ Hermione thought with a remarkable sense of foreshadowing.

 _~BLHD~_

Again, Hermione found herself standing in front of a specific door on the seventh corridor in the middle of the night. She knocked and entered when he called for her. Everything seemed peaceful. Malfoy sat in his chair, serenely drinking a cup of steaming tea. His wand lay before him on the huge, dark desk. The cool air of the Scottish winter brushed against her face, and a peaceful moon shone down at them. _Oh yes, and let's not forget the truly_ _impressive formation of mountains. Papery mountains, that is. Wait a second!_

'You're kidding me, right?! This is "just a bit of paperwork"? Do you seriously expect me to work through that?' Hermione asked, justifiably outraged as she took in the hundreds and hundreds of different pieces of parchment that lay in front of the calm, tea sipping ponce.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Good evening,' he said in maddening serenity. 'No, Granger. I expect _us_ to work through those.'

'This is what you meant with "minor non-school-related paperwork"? You can't be serious! What are those?!' Hermione shakily indicated a heap of parchment that towered nearly four feet high, swaying gently in the breeze.

'Oh, that?' Draco waved his hand dismissively. 'Those are my collected dossiers on all students at Hogwarts with suspected connections to the old families. I've had my father send them to me and collected a few on those that he had no information on, which were few, let me tell you. Except for fourth, and sixth years, of course.'

'Why not include them?' Hermione asked, trying her best to ignore the humongous stack of private and probably illegally gathered information. She had to admit that she admired Draco's thoroughness, even if his methods were scaring her slightly.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Think, Granger! Do you think someone would be daft enough to get roped into a petty political plot during their most important years of study? I think not.' He hesitated for a second before continuing matter-of-factly. 'Well, I guess there may be a few blithering idiots stupid enough for that... I have those files in my trunk, but for now, I think we should concentrate on these.'

Hermione looked towards the spire of documents and idly wondered how Malfoy had gotten the parchment to stick together. She sighed. Somehow it should have been clear to her that it would turn out to be something ridiculous like this. Rubbing her temple, she decided to play along for now. Hermione took a seat in front of Draco (not that she could see much of him through the heaps of documents) and put her quill, ink and a few loose sheets of parchment on the desk. Chewing on her quill, she remembered his explanation and blinked suddenly. 'Ahm, is there a difference between "family members" and "students suspected of connections to old families"?'

Draco clicked his tongue patronisingly. 'Of course there is, Granger. If you were to become engaged to Harry, for example...'

'Engaged?' Hermione echoed in shock.

'Yes, engaged, Granger. I take it you're familiar with the term?' He rolled his eyes again. 'Hypothetically, if you were to become engaged to Harry, you would have a certain influence with the House of Black without actually being a member of the household, at least for the time being, right? The same could be said about childhood friends, subsidiary houses, branch families, treaties of friendship and so forth... You shouldn't rule out that anyone can have friends in high places, just because he doesn't have the right family name, or even the right background, as appalling as it is.'

'Why do the old families share their power then?' Hermione asked, honestly confused. She hadn't gotten the impression that the old houses were into charity... _at all_.

'Naturally, because they stand to profit.' Malfoy sniffed at her query. 'By collecting valuable associates to their name, the ancient families gain prestige and pull for themselves by magnifying their power base. Simply put, publicly linking talented individuals to their names is as much acquiring resources as it is showing-off. The other party, in turn, gets the benefit of political sway and protection they could not have afforded otherwise.'

Hermione blinked again. 'So...no Muggle-borns?'

'No Muggle-borns,' Draco repeated coolly. 'Only particularly distinguished individuals are scouted while still at school. I have a list of those, too, though I find the thought rather unlikely.'

He produced a small stack of about twenty records and put them down beside the wobbling tower of parchment that reminded Hermione of Babel. 'While we are on the subject,' he continued, 'make me a list of all the people you've spoken to, either on the train ride or during your stay at school!'

'What? But...but you can't be serious? Isn't that totally excessive?' Hermione stammered in shock, aghast at the breach of privacy.

'I am completely serious, so stuff your pathetic preconceptions about ethics where I can't see them, and make me that list. I've already checked Tracey's, Daphne's and Harry's contacts. Oh, and mine, obviously,' Malfoy answered in a collected fashion, still engrossed in the paper before him.

'Your own friends? You spied on your own friends?' Hermione asked, agape.

Malfoy only shrugged.

'But...that's so wrong! Why?' Hermione asked meekly.

Sighing, Malfoy looked up. 'Start using that overly big brain of yours, Granger! Anyone who messes with a Black has to have backup plans, contingencies and ways to assess the situation, meaning contacts. You're a Mud...Muggle-born in Slytherin. Whoever approaches you does have either an agenda, a death-wish or some severe cerebral dysfunction. Or is a Gryffindor, now that I think about it, but it's particularly hard to ascertain lack of mental faculties in that house. Happily, you have no contacts in either Hufflepuff or Gryffindor; I've already checked, so we can rule that bit out.'

Hermione just looked at him for several moments, time flying by unnoticed by her. 'I just now realise that you're a lot smarter than I thought for the first few months,' she admitted grumpily in the end.

'Please, Granger.' Though he tried to suppress any reaction, Hermione gleefully took notice of his complacent look. _Thanks, Harry!_ 'Not all of us like to flaunt our wits or are insufferable teacher's pets, you know? Look at Tracey, for instance...'

 _Tracey?_ Hermione thought, taken aback. _Well, she is annoyingly good with Transfiguration, granted. I think she's in the top five in Charms, too... Wait, now that I think about it, isn't she in the top ten of pretty much all the classes, except Potions...?_

Struggling to cope with the realisation that she had drastically underestimated her little informant, a small 'Oh...' escaped her lips.

Quickly recovering from her surprise, Hermione immediately decided to ask another question, but as soon as she opened her mouth again, Draco's snarling voice interrupted her. 'Last question, Granger! We really have better things to do than to rectify your deplorable state of ignorance concerning the time-honoured traditions of the wizarding world, for now at least.' He sighed again and rubbed his eyes in annoyance. 'I'll allow you three questions each evening we work on this, I don't think I'll live through our sessions otherwise.'

Hermione shot him a scalding look and huffed indignantly. 'Oh, fine!' Thinking about it some more, she decided that the offer wasn't so bad, really. Most questions she had regarding traditions and such were not exactly featured in books, even those she had recently acquired, but taught to the young witches and wizards by their parents. Therefore, Malfoy's proposal would help her avoiding further shame; dropping a clanger in Slytherin was as much embarrassment as it was a risk of bodily harm for her, after all.

'You mentioned branch families. What are those? Is it simply a split family tree? Like if I had a great-great-great-grandfather who had a younger brother whose descendants flourished, and I had a lot of fifth cousins who share my name but are really far down the, er, line of succession?'

Draco looked at her curiously. To Hermione's great confusion, his expression became stone-hard soon after, and he answered as if selecting each word with great care. 'Mostly, it is exactly that...'

'Mostly?' Hermione asked shrewdly, determined to dig deeper.

Draco set down his own quill, looked deeply into her eyes and nodded. 'Mostly, yes. You have to understand that the head of a family has nearly unlimited power over any member of his household. It's been like that since ancient times. He can do almost anything: Arrange marriages or disown someone for going against his orders, for example. Even harsher still, he can actually cast people out of the family as punishment, though that is–thankfully–rather rare, as that person would also lose all the protection the family name grants, making him or her something akin to an outlaw until they take on a different name by marriage or adoption.'

Hermione was amazed to see that Draco actually shuddered at the thought.

'There were times when the most important families in Britain, and Europe in general I guess, protected and hid their branch families by forcing them to take on different names and swear a magically binding oath of fealty to the main branch. That custom is not only harshly frowned upon nowadays but actually highly illegal and thought of as a cultivated form of slavery. It's pretty much died out...for the most part.'

Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'For the most part, right?'

Draco's face gave as much away as a blank sheet of paper. 'Yes, Granger. For the most part.'

* * *

¹ _NB: Not to be confused with Sirius Black III, brother of Regulus Black II._

 _ **AN1, about pure-blood culture** : _I am aware that my take on pure-blood culture is a bit different from canon, but I really don't like following explored paths.__

 _By no means is this to be taken as apologetics or anything. While Rowling's descriptions of ridiculous preconceptions and prejudices are, in fact, quite realistic (You only need to review the Nazi's completely barmy classification system for the ancestry of Germans. It's basically exactly the same as canon: if one of your grandparents [and to politically inconvenient people this could go back as far as a few hundred years] was a Jew [proven or believed to be, it mattered little], your family line was, in their eyes, completely and irrevocably tainted.), it (Rowling's setting) lacks a believable background (even if you decide to heed the patch-up that is Pottermore). You have strife, you have opposing parties, but there is little explanation given as to how this came to be. It needlessly simplifies the situation by refusing to arm the pure-blood bigots with even a_ _single_ _valid argument to fight their cause. I'm sorry, but that's just silly. Maybe Rowling didn't want to overtax her young readers by presenting an actually believable moral dilemma. I, on the other hand, have a higher opinion of those who read in their free time and will present you a believable political background that's neither too one-sided nor out-of-the-world implausible._

 **AN2, about pairings** : _I want to make one thing clear at this point. This fic features (what I consider to be) realistic relationships (that are, of course, at times exaggerated). I'm just saying this because some people seem to think that Harry will end up with a multitude of lovers. That will, most definitely, not be the case._


	20. HD: Hidden gears

**Hidden gears**

* * *

A few days later, at the break of dawn, Harry awoke in his irksomely familiar bed in the infirmary, blinking a few times to shut out the dazzling morning light.

'Good morning, Master Harry!' Minnie's shrill voice rattled his brains, serving its purpose better than a few dozen alarms. 'You is looking very fit today. Is Master Harry wishing for some breakfast?'

'Thanks, Minnie,' returned Harry grumpily, pressing the cushion onto his face to muffle the volume of her piercing shriek. He rather liked his family house-elves, but they were a bit much to deal with so early. Nevertheless, he suspected that Minnie was earnestly pleased to be able to serve him while he was at school, so he couldn't quite bring himself to order her to be quiet. She really was adorable.

'Ah, I bid you good morning as well, Harry. I hope you are faring better today?'

Harry ceased his antics with the pillow immediately. With as much dignity as he could muster, he sat up, ignoring the embarrassment as best as he could. He looked towards his visitor and just barely managed to turn his curse into a cough. 'Good morning, Headmaster. To what do I owe the pleasure?' Harry swore those damned eyes twinkled in amusement at the scene they had witnessed.

'Making sure one of our brightest is up to snuff, naturally. That is what I told Poppy, at least. She really is giving it her best with you, you know? I hope you've let her know that you appreciate her devotion.'

'Considering that she only yesterday threatened to jinx me if I were to further call her Madam Pomfrey, I'd say we're good, Professor,' said Harry with a weak smile. 'I am grateful for your concern, sir, but if this is more than a simple check-up, I'd rather have my Head of House in attendance.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'I am glad that you have found trust in a few members of staff, at least. But have I really done anything to warrant this level of mistrust in comparison to Professor Snape?'

'I...guess not.' Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes.

The old warlock, however, looked rather interested. 'Now, do I have to take this as a token of confidence or a sign that you've become a bit wary of Professor Snape, Harry?'

Harry mentally cursed himself for real this time. Dealing with one of history's slyest and most powerful wizards ten seconds after rousing from sleep was clearly beyond him. 'I'm sorry, sir. Please do not take my words at face value when I'm barely awake; I'm really not a morning person. In the interest of clarifying the matter, I do not wish to complain about my Head of House. If anything, I feel like I overreacted a bit when we last spoke in your office, sir. I still stand behind the sentiments spoken, but there was no need for that tone or my...theatrical departure. I have meant to apologise for that, but with one thing and another...'

Yet Dumbledore merely smiled benignly, waving his hand as if to dispel the bad air. 'Don't worry, my boy. You may have trouble imagining it, but even your grandfather and I weren't born with a beard, you know.' His eyes shone jovially when he spotted a small box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans that Daphne had left for Harry. 'Indeed, sometimes our youthful desires catch up to us even at our ripe age.' With great care, Dumbledore picked a single bean of a warm yellow colour. 'If I may?' he asked hopefully.

Harry raised an eyebrow and shrugged. He really couldn't tell if the eccentricities were meant to throw him off or part of the real Dumbledore. Taking in the garish mint green robe, he surmised it to be the latter.

'Ah, most excellent: peach! Maybe our luck is finally having a turn for the better.' Dumbledore chuckled happily, apparently oblivious to Harry's disbelieving look. 'But in earnest, I wanted to inform you that three older students of House Gryffindor have been temporarily suspended for their part in the incident that has landed you here.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Three, sir?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Indeed, three, Harry.'

Harry hesitated for a bit. 'There were more than three people involved, Professor. Besides me, I mean.'

'I am aware of that. Sadly, only three people came forward and openly admitted their guilt. They claimed it to be a prank that may have gotten out of hand when you used advanced defensive magic.'

'Sir, with all due respect, as you said, I used _defensive_ magic.' Harry scoffed. 'I find it hard to believe that more than a handful of students picked a _Blasting Curse_ at random in their panicked effort to-as you say-react to me casting a S _hield Charm_.'

'A reasonable assumption. I, too, find the explanation given somewhat lacking, especially considering the remarkable destruction they wreaked. Still, you should know how these things would go if an official inquiry were to take place. The evidence is mostly circumstantial, and there were no witnesses. In fact, it would not be impossible to construe the events in a way that would present you in a less than inculpable light.'

Harry narrowed his eyes. 'So you're saying that I should take all this as a token of justice because I cannot hope for better, sir?'

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

'If I were to take a guess, I would say that there was probably no one suspended who belonged to any major family with a Wizengamot background?' Harry spat.

Dumbledore lowered his head slightly. 'You are correct, Harry. It is most curious.'

'Gryffindors indeed,' Harry sneered, turning his head away from his headmaster, not willing to let him see the anger that burned in his eyes.

'I wish I had better news. Given your grandfather's actions, I doubt you will have to face any more ambuscades in the foreseeable future. Only a truly desperate person would dare risk facing your family's wrath. A small silver lining, at least.'

Harry remained silent. _Yes, I'm probably somewhat safe for now, but no thanks to anyone but Grandfather. Shouldn't have expected anything to begin with, I guess._

'Well, if you'll excuse me, Harry. I look forward to seeing your academic results at the end of the year.'

'Thank you, sir,' the younger Black murmured absentmindedly.

 _~BLHD~_

'So, that's everything, really! I know it's not the most interesting of topics, but it can't all be duels and catching bad guys. Merlin knows, I wish it were. So, any questions? And I really wouldn't mind queries about something other than the history of Alchemy, if you catch my drift.' The man grinned rascally.

'Professor Prewett? I have a question, but I fear it really doesn't fit with the topic of the lesson...'

'Finnigan, two points to Gryffindor!' Their History of Magic teacher laughed. 'Now, what is this intriguing question you have for us?'

'Sir, I wonder. You know, there was all that trouble a few weeks ago, with all the rumours and stuff, and I wondered if you could tell us a bit about the Blacks...' His voice trailed away weakly.

Hermione sat up straight, and she wasn't the only one either. A lot of people who had been in the process of packing up their belongings suddenly sat very still.

'Ah, yes,' Prewett responded, the grin sliding off his face. 'Well, it's only natural to be curious. Let me tell you two things about the Blacks.' He sat back on his desk, taking out his wand. 'First and foremost: they are dangerous in every way known to wizardkind.'

'You mean like in a duel, sir?' Finnigan asked.

'Yes, but that's not everything, I'm afraid. It's true, though; I personally don't know of any person called Black that was not at least above-average in matters of duelling.' He winced slightly and rubbed his side. 'I'm sure you remember what that big-headed son of a bitch, his grace, Lord Black did. That one's particularly nasty, let me tell you. You'd all better stay clear of him until he _finally_ bites the dust. Don't mess with a Black unless you're really sure of yourself.'

'You're exaggerating, sir. Their little _prince_ has been beaten pretty soundly, hasn't he?' someone called from the backline.

'Don't be daft, Ron. Their last scion's...personal history aside, I'm sure Harry Black would blow most of you to smithereens before you'd have drawn your wands. It's true that you or Neville here probably know more about Defence than him, but I hear he's dabbling in some NEWT level stuff in Charms, so I wouldn't call him exactly harmless. Still, you don't get what I'm really talking about here. It's not all about magical prowess, don't you see? Some blasting idiots really upset the old tosser, and now the shit has really hit the fan.'

'What do you mean, sir? You, ehm, you're talking about Lord Black again, right, sir?' Hermione asked carefully, trying not to upset her teacher who clearly harboured a deep dislike for the man.

'Right, right, you wouldn't know of course. You're Muggle-born, correct, Granger?' Prewett asked.

'That's right, sir,' she returned a bit stiffly.

He smiled faintly. 'No need to glare at me, young lady. I don't give a rat's ass. What I'm talking about is that some complete buffoon provoked the Blacks long enough that they've now publicly declared vendetta against all those that attack their kin. Barmy, right, but still really dangerous.'

'What?' Finnigan shouted loudly. 'You mean that's for real?'

Their professor chuckled spiritlessly. 'Yes, sadly that bit of gossip is true.'

Another one in the back row raised her voice. 'Vendetta? How can the Blacks get away with that? Why don't they do something about them in the Wizengamot or something?'

'It's not that easy, you know,' said Prewett. 'Don't ask me that stuff, I can't be bothered with all that really intricate political crap.' A few people snickered appreciatively. 'I always was more the hexing first, talking later guy, but, apparently, or so I've been told, there exist those really old laws that practically nobody knows anymore, and if there is such a thing, you can count on those conniving bitches of Blacks to be aware of them. So, as long as there are sufficient grounds to invoke those laws-Merlin alone knows what exactly those are-then it seems it's completely legal to attack all disputants of major Wizengamot lines.'

'But, sir, why don't they change the rules?'

'They can't, that's why.' The muscular former head of the Auror Office leant his back against the desk and tossed his wand high in the air, catching it with alternating hands without really paying attention. 'Some laws are bound to the institution of the Wizengamot itself. You should know by now that the Wizengamot precedes the British Ministry of Magic by several centuries. It's not possible to change or abolish some of them. But those are not even the worst. There was a time when case-law was mostly done verbally.'

'Sir, you mean there are laws that aren't written down but are just as binding as all those you can read up?' Hermione asked, horrified.

'That's exactly what I mean, Miss Granger. Glad to see you realise the magnitude of the problem,' he replied in a falsely cheerful tone.

'B-but how can such a law even be followed if there are no records,' she asked, aghast.

'I never said there were no records. I just said there were no public records.' He sighed dramatically. 'Look, let's not get into that right now. We've gotten way off topic here. Point is, the Blacks can legally and practically declare war on any family that attacks their offspring for the foreseeable future.'

'And those without Wizengamot connections, Professor?' Finnigan asked apprehensively.

Their teacher actually seemed to wince at the thought. 'You'd better not even ask.'

After a few seconds of pensive silence, Hermione decided to steer the conversation back to the beginning. _A little bit more can't hurt, right? Greengrass and Harry aren't here anyway, and I can't really imagine Draco minding me asking questions, so..._ 'Sir, you said there were two things we should know about the Blacks, didn't you?'

'Ah, right you are, Miss Granger,' he said with forced joviality, clearly relieved to have escaped the topic somewhat. 'Right, here's the second thing: don't ever assume that you really know what their game is. If you don't share their name, they'll never be completely open with you. I want to stress this point especially since we have you Slytherins in this class. I'm sure you think Harry Black looks right harmless and friendly. I'd wager most of you believe he's some kind of personable, reclusive kid who likes his studies and fancy robes.' Prewett's airy personality was by now a mere memory. He looked tense, not unlike a predator ready to pounce or, Hermione mused, flee. 'If you really think so, then you've already lost the game before you even know you're playing. Listen up, kids: if a Black has to choose between his family and his friends; his family and his love; his family and justice; hell, if the Blacks have to choose between the lives of hundreds and their thrice-be-damned family, then they'll always pick their own cursed brood without a second thought.'

They all gaped wordlessly at their teacher whose eyes had a slightly mad gleam to them. He was shaking, Hermione realised. _Oh my god! What could've happened to make him hate the Blacks like that...?_

Professor Prewett made a grotesque face, gripping his wand so hard that the knuckles turned white as snow. 'Right, don't tell me later that I didn't warn you. Now trot along or I'll have to endure another of Minerva's lectures about "proper behaviour for educational figures".'

Hermione packed her things and shot out of the classroom as fast as she could, eager to leave the awkward atmosphere behind, never quite noticing the cold look she had been receiving for the last ten minutes.

 _~BLHD~_

'Isn't this enough, Ma...' Harry coughed sheepishly, cringing slightly when Pomfrey raised her wand threateningly. 'I mean, Poppy?' he amended hastily.

The matron glared at him for a second before smiling back. 'Well, truthfully, I could've let you loose days ago, but you've been sleeping so much I thought you were still recovering. Maybe you're just bored with the lessons, hm?'

'What?' Harry replied in a suitably outraged voice. 'Never! I love healing! Granted, I would love it even more if I could learn it without ending up here heavily injured sometime soon, but you can't have everything I guess.' He smiled back at her. 'And you're a really good teacher, Poppy!'

She beamed at him. 'That is sweet of you to say. Now sit still, and don't think I'll go easy on your last check-up just because you heap praise on me.'

'Yes, ma'am,' replied a grinning Harry, earning himself a sharpish poke with a wand to his ribs.

Fifteen minutes later, the matron finally seemed satisfied with her findings. 'Well, everything looks in order. You still seem a bit weaker than I'd like, but we'll have to go with it for now. If you think anything is off or you think your sleeping habits get even worse, come by and we'll have another look.'

Harry snorted. _I really have other problems than my sleeping habits for now._

Pomfrey, reading his expression, raised her finger in lecture. 'Harry, if you don't take this seriously, maybe we should confine you to the infirmary for another week or so? Or maybe I should have Minnie follow you all day?'

Harry eagerly shook his head, trying with all his might to arrange his face into an expression of remorseful insight. 'NO! I mean, no, that won't be necessary, Poppy.'

She seemed far from convinced but obviously decided to let it go. 'We shall see. Now off you go. I bet you can't wait to resume your studies.'

'Thanks again for everything!' Harry said to the retreating form of the matron.

'If you want to do me a favour, Harry,' she replied on her way to her office, 'please make it at least a fortnight before you end up here again.'

Harry couldn't help himself and chuckled a bit. Swinging his legs from the bed, he turned towards the small creature at his side. Minnie, doing her utmost to be prepared, held out one of his new Hogwarts robes for him with an expectant expression. Not wanting to waste his energy trying to argue with a zealous elf, Harry let her help him dress.

'Thanks, Minnie. You may retreat to the kitchens if you want. I'll call you should I need anything. And please don't appear on your own when I'm in the company of outsiders.'

The small elf drooped. 'Minnie will do as Master Harry commands.'

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. 'You were a big help, Minnie,' he said gently, 'and I promise I'll call upon you often, alright?'

'Master Harry will?' Minnie's pout instantly turned into a radiant and hopeful smile when she saw him nod. 'Minnie will be doing her bestest then!' She smoothed some imaginary creases on his robes, bowed deeply to him, and disapparated with a big smile and a loud crack.

Harry gripped his wand and craned his neck, flexing the muscles in his shoulders. _Right, now onwards to take charge of my own fate again._ His mind made up, he purposefully strode towards the exit of the infirmary.

 _~BLHD~_

Hermione sighed–again. It had been a long day, like all the other days recently. While she personally didn't mind the school work, even in light of the 'upcoming' exams, her agreement with Draco had resulted in her spending at least three hours a day pouring over private information she was really still convinced she had no business knowing.

She couldn't deny that she'd learned a lot, of course. She also took advantage of the three questions Draco granted her each session they spent together. But even in light of her newly rekindled friendship with Harry, she couldn't quite help herself and wondered if she was doing the right thing, all in all. She knew enough by now to take all the stories Professor Prewett spouted with a pinch of salt, but they did leave a really nasty aftertaste, as if they were somehow polluting her memories, worming their way unbidden into the depths of her imagination, showing her housemates in an ugly, disfiguring light. She couldn't quite keep herself from brooding over how her parents would react if they knew what she was doing every evening...

Hermione sighed–again. _At least I've got this part down. Most Slytherins seem to be either sighing, smirking or sneering half of the time, so I think I'm making progress._

Walking in front of a large group of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs who were also headed to the Great Hall, her sarcastic insights were suddenly disrupted when she felt the weight of her school bag drop. Looking back, she saw all her parchment and most of her books widespread on the floor.

Hermione sighed–again.

She kneeled down and made to collect her belongings, ignoring the taunting remarks and occasional 'unintentional' kicks that scattered her homework across the corridor. Just when one of the last Hufflepuffs was about to casually strike out at her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ , she heard a small pitiful yell before said Hufflepuff did a runner, blue horns sprouting from his behind.

'Need any help, Hermione?'

She looked up and returned a grateful little smile towards her aider. 'Thanks, Miss Fawley.'

The prefect sniggered. 'No need to thank me; I've been looking for a chance to try that jinx for weeks. I wonder how he'll sit down for dinner.'

With the help of the older girl, Hermione had soon arranged her possessions in an orderly pile.

'Blasted idiots. Sorry, Hermione.' Fawley indicated Hermione's bag that now sported a long and precise cut. 'Looks like something hit by a _Severing Charm_ if you ask me.'

Hermione nodded, keeping her head down. 'Why do they insist on doing this...?'

Fawley put her arm around her, dragging her gently to her feet again. 'Come on, it's not so bad. Here, let me help you.' She murmured something and swished her wand in a complicated pattern until a wiggling mass of colourful wrapping papers packed her school material in one chequered box. 'Meh,' the older girl said critically, 'my mum somehow manages to do it a lot more elegantly. Well, it'll have to do.' She smiled and picked up the parcel, carrying it under one of her arms. 'Come on, let's get you to the common room.'

'Thanks,' Hermione muttered dejectedly.

Fawley laughed warmly. 'It's nothing, Hermione.' She looked around in a playfully conspiratorial manner. 'Hey, do you have anything planned after dinner?'

'Well,' Hermione said guardedly, 'I'm supposed to meet someone, but why do you ask?'

'Ah, well, if you've got something planned already,' Fawley answered loftily. 'And here I wanted to let you in on the secret that the house-elves here make really great ice-cream if you ask them nicely. But, I can see that you have an important meeting, of course...' She grinned at Hermione again, her long, curly blond hair dancing to the tune of her suppressed laughter.

Hermione bit her lip. 'Well,' she responded slowly, 'well, I suppose he won't really mind if I'm late for once.'

Fawley beamed with joy. 'Awesome! But first, let's get your stuff into the dormitories. A friend of mine is really good with _Knitting Charms_. That'll last longer than trying to mend it with a simple _Reparo_.'

This time, Hermione returned a much more earnest smile. 'Thank you.' She spoke in a soft tone that bordered on whispering.

Fawley winked at her. 'Come on, I haven't had my ice-cream for days now! The sacrifices school demands!' She threw her free hand dramatically towards the ceiling. 'I'll show you how to get into the kitchens while we're at it. I'm sure not many first years know...'

And Hermione, again, could only smile back.

 _~BLHD~_

It was much, much later in the evening that Hermione finally returned to the common room. Draco was sitting by the fire talking with Harry, who was gesticulating wildly, his face grim.

'Where have you been?!' snapped Draco. 'I've been waiting for two hours. At least tell me before you decide to ditch me, Granger!'

Hermione looked vaguely embarrassed. 'Sorry, Draco. I just...something came up. It won't happen again, sorry.'

Harry and Draco exchanged a short glance before Draco gave a great shrug. 'Well, if it's just this once...'

Hermione grinned guiltily before addressing Harry. 'It's good to see you out of the infirmary again!'

Harry smiled back. _Odd_ , thought Hermione. _If I didn't know better, I'd say he looks kind of sad._

'Thanks, it is good to be back. At least I don't have to worry about catching up on coursework. I'm grateful you kept me up to date, Hermione.'

She gave him a small smile. 'It was nothing. I'm looking forward to having someone who takes the end of year exams seriously. Tracey and Draco insist that they're ages away and keep putting off their revisions.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'You're barmy, Granger. We've still got four months. Four months! I'll be damned if I start revising already.'

'Ah, well. Don't mind me showing you up in Transfiguration again, then,' she said delicately.

Draco's eye twitched almost indiscernibly, forcing Harry to stifle his laughter.

 _~BLHD~_

Harry climbed the stairs to the seventh corridor, inwardly steeling himself. _Last chance to reconsider, Harry._ He paused, clenching his wand again. Shaking his head, he proceeded towards the room Draco had told him about.

Knocking twice, he turned the handle. He was barely one step into the room, his eyes glued to the impressive amount of documents Draco had gathered when he heard a voice shouting.

' _Flippendo! Expelliarmus!'_

Harry whirled around, batting the first jinx into the wall by pure instinct, ducking the _Disarming Charm_ in one smooth motion, before pointing his wand in the general direction of the spells, twirling his wand left twice before jabbing it violently forward.

A giant soap bubble sprang from his wand with a sound like a vinyl coming to a grinding halt. The bubble soared through the room and hit a figure that crouched in the shadows to his right. The assailant raised his wand again but, instead of another incantation, blew a great blue bubble from his mouth.

'Now, now, Draco. A bit overeager, aren't we? Good to see you, too.' Harry smiled evilly. 'Is it already time for me to put you in your place again?'

Draco raised both of his hands in panic, letting go of his wand in the process. 'N-no, Harry, I...' But he couldn't keep protesting his innocence, as another soap bubble, even bigger than the last grew from both his mouth and nose. It took at least ten seconds for the frantic Draco to pop it, and even then the ordeal seemed to have taken the strength out of him. Fighting for breath, he lay on the floor, spitting soap.

'You know,' Harry said, smirking, 'I've always wondered if those bubbles taste of lye. If they do, I can't imagine it's a very pleasurable experience, in addition to the little problem of respiration, of course.'

Draco looked up resentfully, throwing up another mouthful of smaller bubbles.

Harry kneeled down in front of him, shooting him a grandfatherly look. 'This may be the time to asseverate me of your humorous intentions, Draco. Otherwise, I might just, in equally good spirits, forget the counter-charm, you know?'

Draco nodded emphatically. 'I'b dobby, Habby!' he pleaded through the foam that by now engulfed his entire mouth.

Harry looked unconvinced, levelling a playful smile in Hermione's direction who'd observed the spectacle in silence the whole time. 'What do you think, Hermione? Does this constitute an apology?'

She seemed torn between reproof and amusement, and shrugged, an insecure smile on her lips. 'I'm not sure, Harry, but I don't want him spitting on the floor the whole time. Could you do something about that?'

Harry laughed and hit Draco hard on the head with his wand. The bubbles disappeared in an instant.

'What kind of counter-charm is that?! Hitting me like that...'

'Oh, it was nothing, really. The actual spell had nothing to do with that, I just wanted to take the opportunity.' Harry smiled down at the usually poised Malfoy and held out his hand.

Draco reluctantly decided to take it but shot Harry a nasty look all the same. 'There was no need for that, I just wanted to make sure you haven't gotten rusty, you know. Lying in the infirmary for weeks and all that.'

'You're doing these things regularly?' Hermione asked, eyes wide open.

'Yeah,' Harry returned. 'Every once in a while, Draco seems to think he can get me.'

'How often has he, then?' Hermione asked inquisitively.

'Nowhere near often enough,' grumbled Draco, brushing the dust from his robes and taking a seat in front of Hermione, trying very much to ignore the feeling of biting into a large piece of soap.

Harry turned towards Hermione, smirked, and mouthed, 'Never.'

'Yes, yes. As amusing as it is, I'm sure you haven't come here merely to ruin my tea for me. Merlin, I can't drink this anymore! Can't you do anything about the lingering taste, mate?'

Harry shrugged uncaringly. 'I'd try brushing my teeth, Draco.'

'Haha, really witty, man,' Draco shot Harry one last shirty glare. 'Speaking of witty.' All of a sudden, the Malfoy seemed to regain his fervour. 'How have you managed to escape Tracey and Greengrass? It sure didn't look like Greengrass wanted to let you out of her sight ever again. You can bring her into our dormitory if you really want, you know? I don't mind.'

Harry shuddered. 'They, uh, I may have led them to believe that I'm taking a bath right now, actually.' He sheepishly looked down at their assorted lists and documents, avoiding their gazes.

'Harry,' Hermione interrupted the boys, 'why don't you simply tell her to back off a bit? You're letting her walk right over you. That's why the situation's become like this in the first place.'

Harry smiled in a slightly embarrassed fashion. 'Yes, I'm aware of that. It's...complicated.' He looked at Hermione's list of the people she'd met this year. Catching Draco's glance, he nodded subtly.

'I don't know, Harry,' started Hermione again. 'There really has to be a better way to deal with her.'

'Concerning Greengrass,' Draco looked positively alight with glee for some strange reason, 'are you sure you want to encourage her wondering why you're taking so long in the bath? What if she decides to check when you don't come back for an hour or longer? If she overcomes her inhibitions once, you'll forever be in danger of her doing it again, you know?'

Harry instantly dropped the paper and strode towards the door, never even looking back. 'I... Good point, Draco, thank you. I think I'd better head back right this instant. I'll see the both of you later.'

Harry did, in fact, not head straight for the common room. He made a brief detour to the library because there was something he might end up needing if his plans were to come to fruition. It took a lot of begging, but in the end, Madam Pince gave him the tome he requested. The magic he sought to learn was not exactly forbidden for first years or even in the restricted section, but the staff rigorously discouraged the students from learning it. Professor Flitwick had once told him that he usually avoided the topic altogether before OWLs. There existed countermeasures of course, but the problem was specifically detecting if the charm had been cast in the first place. Not to mention that only very rare individuals would end up casting it correctly, but precision was not, Harry reminded himself, what he had in mind in any case.

 _Serviceable Secrets of the Synapse_ firmly lodged under his arm, Harry sped towards the common room, slightly worried Draco may have had a point with Daphne. A few minutes later, he carefully opened the secret passage, peering into the room. There were only two people visible, and Harry immediately recognised the silhouettes of Tracey and Daphne. Tracey looked up when he entered, and to his immediate worry, her face looked dead serious, not a single trace of playfulness, fake or otherwise, perceivable.

With a slight sense of apprehension, he drew nearer, making no effort to soften his steps. Daphne raised her head a bit. She looked like a person that has been to hell and back–several times. Her hair was dishevelled; her clothes wrinkled; her gaze was dull and downcast. When their eyes finally met, her body trembled, and she gave a puny wail, her eyes welling up immediately.

Harry rushed to their side, sitting down on Daphne's other side. 'What's happened?' he asked urgently.

Tracey, uncharacteristically, grimaced. 'Five minutes after you decided to make your getaway,' she shot him a scolding look, 'Daphne got an owl.' She sighed, rubbing her eyes. 'It's not good. You better read it yourself.'

She gently nudged her best friend, who seemed to fight off her stupor briefly. Her trembling hands passed him a fairly important looking piece of abraded parchment, one of those that were usually reserved for official business. On the front, nearly unrecognisable from the stains of Daphne's dolour, stood the proud coat of arms of the Greengrass family.

Harry looked in confusion over to Daphne, but his cousin was hiding her sobbing face from him, her arms clasping her legs. Tracey gently rubbed Daphne's back but nodded towards the envelope again. 'Read it, Harry.'

Bewildered, Harry unfolded the parchment.

' _Daphne,_

 _It has come to my attention that, despite all the ongoing chaos and malicious rumours surrounding a certain person, you still insist on associating with him on a daily basis. As I've explained to you previously, I intend to manoeuvre the Greengrass line into a more advantageous position, and that is mutually exclusive to any form of continued, permanent association with the Blacks._

 _You will, therefore, cease your interactions with Harry Black during your stay at Hogwarts, lest you endanger my plans for our family. If you go against my will in this matter, I will immediately have you and your sister out of Britain._

 _I'm sorry it has come to this. Stay put until my current negotiations are finished, or I'll arrange it so that you'll never see the boy again. The same will happen should you complain to your mother. Don't test me._

 _Your grandmother,  
Esmerelle Greengrass_'

Harry narrowed his eyes. _The instant I am about to put my plan into action this happens? I admit we were a bit careless, but the timing is beyond coincidence. And because of the_ special circumstances _in regards to the Greengrasses, Grandfather won't be able to help me with this one... Damn!_

'Harry...' He turned his head and looked down at the shrunken, near lifeless figure of his cousin. She gazed at him with a pleading, fearful expression, an endless stream of tears springing from her ocean-blue eyes. She grabbed a fistful of his robes, lowered her head and whispered so quietly that Harry, at first, wasn't sure that she had murmured anything at all, 'Please don't leave me...'

'Two weeks,' Harry answered softly, his green eyes blazing with determination. 'Give me two weeks.'

'You promised,' she said under her breath. 'You promised that you wouldn't leave me, too.'

'And I won't,' he said solemnly, throwing one arm around her shoulder in a somewhat lopsided embrace. Daphne broke out in tears again, holding onto Harry's robes as if her life depended on it. Over her head, Tracey and Harry exchanged a meaningful glance.


	21. HD: 14 Days or Road to Ruin

**Welcome back to 'Black Luminary'!**

* * *

Considering it's been some time since my last update, I thought I'd give you guys a very short summary of the story so far, just so you don't lose the plot. I still recommend that you check out my prior chapters if you think you can't follow as I will not be able to emphasise some of the more subtle plot points and developments without spoiling the whole thing. This chapter, in particular, relies heavily on rather...consistent changes in the behaviour of some characters.

Also, please don't hate Harry too much. Be patient! The next two chapters will reveal everything regarding his actions in a, I hope, satisfactory way. No further lengthy introductions or interludes lie in wait in the foreseeable future.

 **Without further ado, let's begin with the summary:**

Harry Black, adopted scion of Arcturus III of the House of Black, finally starts his long-awaited first year at Hogwarts in a general climate of hostility and antagonism. Forced to watch his every step, a chance encounter with Hermione, whom he previously befriended on the train, results in him fleeing through the castle. Daphne Greengrass, his 'cousin', starts a mad dash through the school in an effort to find Harry, who turns out to have collapsed in an old storeroom due to some unknown magical condition. Not willing to accept an evasive answer, Daphne finally forces Harry to reveal that has to cope with a new and strange perception of magic that threatens to overwhelm him at every step should he ever lose control.

When they finally make it back to the Slytherin common room, Harry is shocked to find his fellow Slytherin Theodore Nott bloody and sprawled over his own trunk, obviously murdered. With the help of Cranky, the Black's strange head elf, and Professor Snape, Harry just barely manages to avoid the attention of the DMLE, who are revealed to be quite eager to lay blame at the Black's doorstep. Despite his legally proven innocence, Harry finds himself subjected to even more open hostility that results in him spending a large portion of the following months in the care of Madam Pomfrey, whom he manages to convince to teach him the art of healing. Seizing a chance, Harry also invites the strange, beautiful and terrifying new Defence teacher, Professor Aenor Rose, to the grand ball the Blacks traditionally hold on Yule.

On the way back to one of the Black's estate, Harry's new-found ability once again threatens his very life, as he shows an adverse reaction to the ancient and usually infallible wards of his own family. After a brief spell of recovery, Harry spends most of the winter holidays and all of the actual ball with Aenor Rose, the teacher his politically shrewd grandfather has invited to stay over for the whole holidays without consulting Harry.

Confronted with the expected questions regarding Harry and Aenor's rather inappropriate friendship, Harry storms out of the headmaster's office in a fit of rage - right into the waiting hands of assailants unknown.

In the wake of the tragic and near fatal ambush set for Harry, the resolute pair of Tracey and Draco force Hermione and Daphne to bury the hatchet and form an alliance of sorts to battle the hidden foes within and outisde Slytherin. Draco, in particular, starts a team with the rather reluctant Hermione, enlisting her help to review hundreds of illegal dossiers of their fellow pupils in exchange for brief lessons about pure-blood culture for Hermione's benefit. Arcturus, meanwhile, seething with rage at the serious attempt on his grandson's life, publicly invokes an ancient law that allows his family to legally punish any future attackers with lethal force until the perpetrator is revealed. But just when Harry is finally released from the infirmary, one of his invisible opponents seems to strike again, this time in the form of a letter Daphne's grandmother sends which expressly forbids her any contact with Harry under the threat of taking her out of Hogwarts and Britain...

 **14 days** _or_ **Road to Ruin, parts I and II**

* * *

' _Startling new evidence concerning recent shadowy activities of House Black in Hogwarts has come to our attention, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. It is all but common knowledge that a great many dubious dealings take place behind Hogwarts' prestigious facade. We have, so it sadly seems, already come to terms with the house politics, agendas, interventions and ambitions plaguing our honoured halls of learning. Our conscience has been dulled by the never-ending, bizarre plans and ploys polluting what should, by right, be an innocent place of learning for our children, many of whom stumble into our world, nary an idea of what awaits them in their youthful minds. Yet even though parents continue to entrust their children to us and our famous school in good faith, we sit idly by and let them learn side by side with well-bred miniatures of their plotting parents. But why?_

 _Minister Crouch indicated as recently as last month that, even though "Headmaster Dumbledore has, of course, my personal trust and confidence, we grow wary of the social environment the school seems to facilitate as of recent decades. In this regard, we aim to put a stop to the political parties and houses that misuse our premiere educational establishment as a recruiting ground for collaboration."_

 _In light of these ambitious and long overdue proclamations, I personally feel it is my duty to draw attention to the highly questionable events of the past weeks at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where an allegedly failed political deal resulted in the hospitalisation of several students, one of whom had to be treated with great delicacy for weeks. Even worse, if possible, than the malicious manhandling, it seems that Harry Black, youngest scion of the disgraced House of Black, seems to have been at the heart of the incident. Considering the shady history of the Blacks, suspicions inevitably fell onto their youngest, yet the moment several popular political figures called for an investigation into the incident, three older students seem to have taken the fall for Harry Black, getting temporarily suspended from school, allegedly confessing in a way that an informant described to us as "very well rehearsed"._

 _The_ Prophet _understands that even though the events could be linked to the infamous Prince of Black, no punishment-or any consequence whatsoever for that matter-has been issued. It comes as no further surprise that two of those that were sacrificed for the unholy ambitions of the most notorious Slytherin in decades were Muggle-borns, the other a half-blood. We are appalled that those the Blacks would rob of their rights were even forced to take the blame, no doubt prompted to do so with promises of riches and influence - or maybe yet more sinister dealings?_

 _We of the_ Prophet _demand that swift and just actions be taken, especially in light of Arcturus Black's scandalous proclamation regarding matters of his house, to ensure...'_

'As popular as always, mate,' said Draco, contemplating the article in question with a smirk.

'Thank you,' replied Harry sarcastically. 'It is gratifying that the Prophet thinks so highly of me. It's not easy to have your enemy take the blame for your failed scheme, after all.'

'Doesn't this infuriate or even worry you, Harry?' Hermione eyed the paper with disgust. 'I know it's a lot of rubbish, of course, but some will believe everything that's written in the paper. Don't you think this will reinforce the way people already think of you?'

The three Slytherins sat at the far end of their house table, hoping for as much privacy as the Great Hall allowed, which was, in the best of cases, hardly any at all.

'And what would you have me do?' Harry asked with slight irritation. 'Even if I intended to make a public statement, I would never be able to convince the Prophet to print it. Most here have listened to this kind of news for years.'

'I don't know, man,' muttered Draco, apparently thoughtful.

Harry arched an eyebrow critically. 'You can't be serious...'

'Nah.' Draco waved a hand impatiently. 'No, not about correcting your hilarious image of the devil in disguise; you'll totally have to live with that your entire life. It's Skeeter! I think she's getting old, soft, desperate for money or...'

'I am sure I don't want you to finish that sentence.'

'What?! I guess she's a little old for you, Harry. But seeing as most witches would rather curse themselves than marry you, I think you should consider every opportunity that presents itself. Maybe she's into younger men.'

Harry slowly put down his cutlery with a vacant and slightly green expression. 'Thank you for ruining my breakfast.'

Hermione blinked in confusion, though she too looked faintly disgusted. 'You mean she's usually even worse?'

'Oh, yes!' Draco answered enthusiastically. 'I think my all-time favourites were "unremarkable, pampered brat", "brain-washed political catastrophe in training" and "twisted pet of monsters".' He smacked his lips, eyes closed in silent bliss like a connoisseur presented with the immensely difficult and equally pleasing choice between several quality vintages. 'I think I still prefer the first one.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I'm _so_ glad it serves to amuse you, at least.'

Hermione ignored Draco's antics, returning her gaze to the article in question again. 'You really believe she's toned it down? Still, why would they print it at all? I know she didn't outright lie, as far as I know, but she still puts her credibility at risk if someone asks the wrong kind of questions, doesn't she? I mean, it's all twisted and half-truths.'

Harry had to muffle his laughter. 'Credibility?'

Draco, on the other hand, looked vaguely impressed. 'You know, Granger. You're starting to think like a Slytherin. Maybe you _aren't_ a total waste of my time, in the end.'

Hermione scoffed, though Harry privily presumed that she was, at least in part, quite pleased with Draco's rather peculiar 'compliment'. He shook his head, slightly amused by the thought that both Draco and Hermione shared the same weakness. He would have to be careful to never divulge this particular epiphany though; both would likely not appreciate being compared to one another.

'On the other hand,' Draco continued, clearly ignoring both of their reactions, 'it's really obvious that someone put a bit of pressure on the Prophet. If I were to guess, I'd say it has to do with... _that_.'

Hermione looked puzzled, but Harry's mood darkened. 'Yeah, well, if you've all now decided whether or not I'm the target of a new political scheme or desperate journalists, I think I'll head to the library for a bit before classes. I really have other things to worry about right now.' He looked a bit further down the table where Daphne sat beside her best friend, moodily stabbing at her meal, dark shadows under her eyes. It had taken a lot of convincing, but-eventually-Tracey and Harry had convinced her to, once again, keep her distance for the fortnight. Despite Daphne's tantrum, it remained a fact that the Head of House Greengrass was undoubtedly the kind of person to do what she thought was best for her family, even against said family's explicit wishes.

Draco and Hermione watched him get up and leave without another word.

'Oops, forgot about that.' Draco grinned ruefully.

'Hm?' Hermione asked, her gaze riveted on the retreating form of her clearly irritated friend.

'He's kind of grumpy in the morning. I doubt he's seriously annoyed with us, but he really prefers to spend his mornings in silence.'

'Is that true?' said Hermione, a faint smile playing about her lips. 'The mysterious, calm and collected Harry Black?'

Her interlocutor merely shrugged. 'Whatever. But stop your gawking! A bunch of people are looking, you know?'

Hermione looked down, embarrassed. 'Oh, right. Sorry.'

'No matter. Anyway, please do turn up tonight. There's something you need to know, and this isn't the place to talk about it.'

'So you mean to tell me that we'll have to hasten our "research" and find the ultimate perpetrator in 14 days now?' Hermione's shocked eyes almost pleaded for Draco to contradict her.

Draco calmly stirred his tea, inhaling the fumes with closed eyes. 'Basically, yes. But considering we've wasted almost the entire day by now, only 13 days remain, you know.' In one graceful motion, he brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip. He sighed contentedly.

Hermione stomped her foot. 'How can you be so calm about this?! We have so much to do! And all of this had to happen shortly before the end of the year, too. This will really disrupt the time I set aside for studying.'

'It's still weeks and weeks until the tests, you know?' Draco repeated himself exasperatedly.

'We've talked about this, Draco,' Hermione raised her finger. 'It's always better to be prepared. If it turns out that you allotted too much time for reviewing, you can still repurpose it for something else.'

'Just don't include me in your insane schedule!'

Hermione clicked her tongue in mild annoyance. 'You'll see. When the tests come and I beat you in all of them, you'll rethink your stance next year!'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'If you beat me in all the tests, I'll stick to your arduous work ethic next year, I promise.'

'Really?' Hermione replied, the fires of ambition burning in her eyes. 'You think you can beat me in Transfiguration? I'll have you know that it's been two weeks since the last time you got the spellwork down faster than me,' she said smugly.

Draco's eye twitched. 'Let me worry about that, Granger. But we have better things to do right now.'

Mumbling something about 'strange priorities for a student', Hermione sat down again, pulling some random parchment from the huge stack that, she privately suspected, kept growing overnight. Lost in thought, she chewed on her quill until a new thought distracted her from the dullness of the task at hand. 'You didn't tell me why we're in such a hurry all of a sudden, Draco. Shouldn't we change the way we go about this when our time is in such short supply?'

He didn't even look up. 'No, I did not and will not tell you why. But I have discussed the matter with Harry, and we have come to the conclusion that our current course of action will...yield the best results - in the end.'

'Would it really hurt you to show a bit of trust in me now and then?' she asked quietly.

'That's neither here nor there, Granger. The problem is not mine to share. Therefore, I will not.'

'Does it have something to do with Greengrass moping around and Tracey desperately trying to distract her?'

'Granger?' the Malfoy interrupted her abruptly.

'Ehm, yes, Draco?' asked Hermione meekly. She recognised the tone.

'Now would be a good time to shut up and get back to work,' he said coolly, not even looking up from his own considerably larger stack.

Harry awoke with a start, the blood-smeared figure of Nott etched into his vision in painful detail one more time. His stomach turned uncomfortably. Swallowing the rising bile and acid, he called for Minnie in a shaky voice, not surprised in the least to see the sweet, if overzealous, elf appear in an instant.

'Master Harry called for Minnie?' The elf seemed to positively glow at the prospect of being able to serve, radiating an admittedly slightly pathological willingness to help in any way imaginable: her big eyes were friendly and upturned; her uniform straight, carefully ironed and spotlessly clean. Yet when she truly laid eyes on her young master, her ears drooped slightly, and she whispered in her trademark squeaky voice, 'Is everything alright, Master Harry? You is looking not so good.'

'Water, please, Minnie,' Harry croaked hoarsely.

The servant of House Black vanished and reappeared with slightly more noise than what could be regarded as polite, especially given Harry's current whereabouts. Looking around (and especially down at the book that, to his embarrassment, was now covered in drool), he surmised that he'd fallen asleep in the library again. Tapping the book absent-mindedly with his wand to remove the stains, he wondered how often this had happened since his long stay in the library. _I suppose my sleeping pattern is completely messed-up._ Smiling gratefully at the elf, he gulped down the exquisitely cold drink. 'Thank you, Minnie.'

She looked up at him in concern, her tiny hands resting against her cheeks in a disturbingly motherly gesture. 'Master Harry is sure that you is feeling better already, sir?'

Harry tried to smile reassuringly, though going by the elf's reaction it might have turned out to be more of a grin of grim determination. 'I'll be fine, Minnie. I promise I'll call you for anything should the need arise.'

The elf nodded sadly and disapparated with a loud crack. Harry suppressed a yawn, looking down on the object of his daily studies. He was getting there. He had to admit that it had turned out to be slightly more complex than he'd anticipated although he should probably have expected that, especially after Flitwick's words of caution.

 _Draco is doing everything humanly possible right now, probably, and Daphne..._ Harry sat up as if lightning had struck him. _What am I doing moping around here? I_ need _that spell! Otherwise, the whole plan is in jeopardy._

He closed the book, packed the writing tools and parchments that were spread out over the two tables he'd pushed together, and strode towards the library exit.

Harry was still deep in thought when he crossed the multitude of ever-moving staircases that made up a large portion of every student's daily routine. A cheerful body of students was ahead of him, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, presumably just leaving their Defence class. Harry squeezed his way through the throng, his hands in his robes gripping the wand so tightly that he felt his whole arm shake slightly in the effort of keeping up the tension. But everything seemed peaceful.

Students laughing, whining, boasting, their carefree voices ringing through the halls, filling the whole corridor with what Harry automatically labelled 'school atmosphere'. He relaxed slightly. The somewhat disturbing smell of some foul bog-dwelling creature wafted towards him, clearly stemming from further down the hallway. Relaxing his control on his mind, he suddenly started to perceive the faintest of currents underlying the foetid miasma. It was...magic, he was startled to realise, filled with intent, though of which kind he could not tell. _Maybe the creature uses the malodour in some way?_ Still, if he didn't know better, he would have guessed that the stench was actually meant to cover up the traces of the magic it spread, as ridiculous as that assumption was. _I don't know any people and precious few creatures able to perceive magic through...sniffing. Get serious, Harry!_

Without any advance warning, an indescribably complex smell that faintly reminded him of mustard seeds filled the hall, originating from behind him. The corridor was still rather dim, yet Harry could have sworn it had shone in an eerie blue light for the briefest of seconds.

Acting purely on instinct, he turned on the spot, raising his wand, and battered the incoming spell towards the ceiling.

Harry stared numbly after the happily chatting group of his condisciples. Not a soul had turned his head.

He was still standing there, wand in his hand and arm outstretched, when he heard two sets of footsteps approaching. One, as it turned out, was Aenor, who had obviously just packed up her notes in the classroom. The second person, to his slight irritation, proved to be Snape.

'Is there a reason for your standing here like a statue, wand raised, Mr Black? Is this, perchance, some new form of dramatic acting?' Snape's lips curled in an unfriendly manner.

'One of those who just passed by threw a curse at me,' Harry answered in a mild trance. He really couldn't quite believe his own words.

Silence thundered through the corridor like a big cannon that hadn't fired even though everyone had been bracing for the noise. 'Are you quite sure, Mr Black?' Snape asked softly, his hostile undertone gone along with his sneer.

Wordlessly, Harry pointed towards the ceiling, where a small yet clearly distinguishable burn mark bore witness to his story.

Harry heard Snape clenching his teeth. 'Of all the foolish, degenerated things to do...'

'Did you see who cast the spell?' Aenor asked quietly.

'No,' Harry admitted, quite grateful that was the case.

'Would you have told your grandfather if you had?' She pressed the matter, eyeing him curiously.

Harry did not respond. Truthfully, he had been standing there, wondering about that, too. His grandfather could be a very generous man, kind to those he cherished, loving to his family. He was a fair man, too, and Harry was inwardly extremely proud that he'd never seen the man completely lose control of a situation or his temper. Most of his happy childhood memories revolved around the figure of his adopted grandfather; his inexhaustible patience, his willingness to go the extra mile wherever Harry was concerned, his uncompromising determination to do well by his family. But there was no doubt, absolutely not a single shred of doubt, in Harry's mind that Arcturus would stay true to his word and butcher the whole family of all those who That thought made Harry rather uncomfortable.

'If you are unharmed, I suggest you head towards your next class, Mr Black.' Snape's eyes flickered between the corridor and Harry.

'No. With your permission, Severus, I'd like to borrow Mr Black for a second.' Aenor suddenly laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and motioned for him start walking towards her office.

Snape looked like he was about to protest but then seemed to think better of it. 'As you will, Aenor. I shall have a word with Pomona regarding this...idiocy.'

Harry was forced into the chair, his head still a mess. 'Why would they do that? Surely they don't think Grandfather is joking?'

Aenor took a seat on the other side of her desk and leant back. 'No. They don't think at all, that is the problem here. In all likelihood, someone told the perpetrator that they shouldn't overthink the matter and just keep doing like before.'

'He'll kill them,' croaked Harry with an equal measure of dread and bewilderment. 'Grandfather will kill them all! Don't they understand?'

'And you care...why?' Aenor's voice was as cold and dark as the bottomless sea.

'I-I...' But Harry hesitated, desperate and at a loss for words. Then he sighed and slumped down. 'I just want to learn, Aenor. I don't need my life to get any more complicated than this...'

She seemed to relax and flashed him a brief smile. 'Understandable. But even though you may choose how to spend your time, who to befriend, what to aim for, and even what to forget, you may never be able to choose who to be, Harry. That goes doubly so for someone like you. And if you want my honest opinion, it could have been a lot worse.'

'You think so?' he asked sceptically.

'Well, imagine being a _poor_ uppity wimp that nobody likes. I mean, at least you still got all those Galleons going for you.' She winked at him.

Harry couldn't help but snort a bit, returning something akin to a very weak smile. Straightening up, he examined his counterpart. 'Glad to see you're not being so distant any more. When you were visiting in the infirmary, I was half expecting you to call me Mr Black again, going by your tone alone.'

'Well, you know,' Aenor responded, her head slightly tilted. 'We're still at school, so there's that, and don't forget that...'

'Grandfather told you to distance yourself and keep an eye on me,' Harry interrupted her mercilessly, smirking a bit.

Aenor, apparently dropping all pretence, shrugged theatrically. 'He told you?'

'Not as such,' he returned, still grinning.

Aenor stared wordlessly at him, her expression sour. 'Well, I guess you also got that wit of yours going for you. See? You may be a bit snotty and the occasional wuss, but at least you're not as clueless as most of your fellow pupils.'

Harry laughed. 'I'm so glad you approve,' he returned sarcastically. 'So? What did you actually want, Aenor? I don't think you invited me here to keep my spirits up. Not that I don't appreciate it.'

'Oho? Are you doubting my honest concern here, dear Harry?' His Defence teacher leant further back, idly balancing her chair while half the legs were in the air.

'Not really, but I don't consider letting Snape in on more than necessary to be the smart option. Having considered this, I guessed you must have some more pressing business if you were willing to have him take notice of our private dealings.'

'Ha!' She exhaled dramatically. 'And this right here is why know-it-all brats are no fun.' She abandoned her balancing act and the dangling legs of her chair crashed onto the office floor with a loud snap. 'I wanted to ask you if you honestly think that plan of yours is such a good idea. You're playing with fire there, Harry. Are you really willing to risk a person just to get things done? She's got a temper, that one, and even should everything go smoothly, she'll throw a tantrum. A justified tantrum, I might add.'

Harry's face fell as if it had been subjected to a sudden increase in gravity. 'How do you even know about that?'

'I have my talents, Harry,' she answered vaguely, smiling suggestively.

His brows furrowed, he asked, 'Do you think anyone else knows? Dumbledore maybe?'

'I don't think so. But, then again, Dumbledore plays the long game. If he knows, he hasn't let anything slip.'

'I'm honestly surprised that it's you who asked me this,' Harry grumbled, slightly annoyed. 'Tracey and surprisingly Draco had their initial reservations, but never would I have thought that you would disapprove.'

She didn't answer, staring out of the window.

'Do you? Disapprove, I mean,' Harry insisted.

Aenor didn't look at him, her gaze still locked onto something apparently beyond the reach of her sight. 'I once did something comparable to what you're about to do. It...didn't work out the way I had planned.'

'So?' asked Harry, who was desperately trying to hide his nervousness at this point. 'Is that a yes or a no?'

Aenor sighed and finally turned to look at him. 'I'm not the best person to answer that question. I'm inclined to act in much the same way you do, but I can't pretend that there isn't some amount of regret still lingering.'

Harry fell silent.

'That doesn't mean that it will necessarily have to turn out that way for you. We're not quite the same and the bigger difference in the equation might be the other person.'

Harry kept silent, his expression not readable.

'In the end, just stick to whatever you perceive to be the right choice and don't hesitate. I can't say anything more.'

Harry nodded slowly. In truth, he had made up his mind long ago. It was regrettable, but sometimes a harsh lesson is what is needed. 'It _is_ a hard choice, and it isn't fair. I'll never pretend otherwise. But I will stick to the plan. Everything is already set up.'

Aenor sighed and stood. 'I hope for your sake that this one turns out better. Just...stay safe this time, alright?'

Harry, smiling a bit, followed her lead and got up as well. 'I will. I'll keep her safe, too. I promise.'

'Like any gentleman should. Oh, by the way, your final Occlumency lesson will take place in the countryside. It is not...feasible to do it here. Once you pass, I'll also fulfil my part of our other bargain.'

'Feasible?' he repeated. _That didn't sound ominous at all!_

'Yes,' she answered tersely, looking him up and down, her brilliant eyes steely for once. 'I must warn you, though. I will give you no quarter for that test, despite my affiliation to your grandfather or our personal...understanding.'

'I'll bear that in mind,' he responded warily. _Looks like I'll need to step up the training when this whole thing is resolved. I really don't want to fail that test._

'You better, Harry,' Aenor responded huskily to his thoughts, opening the door, not meeting his gaze. 'If you don't, it is likely that I'll end up killing you...' Harry silently passed her, yet he could still make out her pleading whisper. '...and your grandfather me.'

Hermione was chewing on her quill, her expression one of intense concentration, but the columns and rows before her still threatened to evade her, forcing her to blink rapidly. 'This is hopeless,' she cried out in desperation, her eyes falling on the still towering heaps of documents. 'We'll never be able to get through all of them!'

'If there's something in there,' Tracey answered, patting Hermione's hand, 'then it's not unreasonable to assume that we'll stumble upon it before we've finished it all.'

'You want to bet the outcome of this all on pure luck?' Hermione looked horrified. 'No, that's just not acceptable!' With gusto, she bent her bushy head back over the reports she was currently reviewing. 'Anyway, I'm grateful you're lending a hand tonight, Tracey. How's Daphne?'

Tracey looked as if she'd seen someone stepping on a landmine. 'Not so well.'

'Be honest here, Tracey. She's a mess!' Draco's voice reached them from somewhere beyond the paper mountains.

'Yeah, alright, she's a mess. At least she's getting some sleep right now.'

'It's rather perplexing that she can keep crying for days, you know. One would assume that she'd run out of salt or water at some point.'

'Stop being so mean, Draco!' shouted Tracey hotly. 'You know how this Harry stuff gets to her.'

'She told me her family is trying to forbid her from meeting Harry, is that true?' Hermione asked quietly.

'She told you, huh?' Tracey rubbed her temples. 'Yeah, her gran is a really tough nut. She'll take her out of Hogwarts if Daphne refuses to obey at this point.'

Not so many weeks ago, Hermione would have scoffed and asked if there wasn't something child protection could do, but now she knew better – sadly.

Minutes crept by like lazy snails, accompanied only by focused if slightly awkward silence.

'I've been thinking,' said Draco after one hour of rigorous study of what Hermione _still_ considered 'spy-stuff'.

'Don't hurt yourself now,' Tracey interjected, grinning broadly.

'Really funny, Tracey. Say, we've been going over all these documents about students, but what if the culprit is somewhere in our blind spot?'

'You mean a teacher?' Hermione asked, horrified. 'B-but surely they wouldn't...'

'Do you think Rose has any connection with the Blacks, Tracey?' Draco overrode Hermione's weak protests. 'Considering Arcturus' and Harry's indulgent attitude, don't you think it's possible that she's a Black?'

Tracey seemed to ponder this for a while before she answered in a slow and steady voice. 'I don't think so. I don't really get that impression. Besides, I can't put my finger on it, but I feel like something was said that made that seem particularly unlikely. I just can't remember...'

Hermione scoffed scathingly. 'That's ludicrous, Draco! Harry's clearly never seen Aenor his entire life before he saw her at the feast. I remember how Daphne kept elbowing him when he tried to sneak a glance at her at the welcoming feast.'

Tracey giggled. 'Yeah, there was that, too. And if she really _was_ a Black, Arcturus would have prevented them from ever meeting publicly.'

'I suppose so,' Draco admitted. 'We should still keep an open mind about the faculty though. Just in case.'

'You're getting jumpy, Draco.' Hermione rolled her eyes.

'I'm never _jumpy,_ Granger!' replied the Malfoy heir disdainfully.

'Oh, yeah?' Tracey was clearly trying not to laugh. 'I remember that one time on Harry's birthday when you laughed about that present he got from Bellatrix.'

'Shut up, will you?!' snapped Draco hotly.

'Every time she raised her right hand to wave or clink glasses, you'd give that really big and embarrassing twitch all over the place. Sort of like a full-body jerk.'

'Will you finally shut up, Tracey?!' Draco snarled grouchily.

Tracey giggled once more and stuck out her tongue in Draco's general direction, causing Hermione to smile faintly. At the same time, she couldn't help feeling slightly envious. Whenever Draco and Tracey or any other pair of Harry's friends were together, they'd inevitably revel in old stories of their apparently long friendship. Harry really seemed like a good person underneath it all, and Tracey was so likeable it was slightly frightening. But she was still sceptical concerning her temporary peace with Daphne and Draco... She shook her head. Draco would always be Draco.

Hermione sighed. There was still, apparently, a mountain to climb.

Four days later, Harry casually settled himself against the frame of the door leading to the dormitories for Slytherin's first year girls, absent-mindedly twirling his wand, his gaze on the sleeping form of his cousin.

'How did you even get up here? Isn't there like some charm or something to keep the boys out?' Tracey asked exasperatedly.

Harry shrugged. 'There is. But, as you correctly stated, it _is_ just a charm. A good bit of old spellwork but-honestly-nothing that can't be overcome with enough determination.'

Tracey sighed, rubbing her eyes. 'Figures. I sure hope you work on the important issue with the same grit, then, instead of wasting your time like this.'

Harry didn't answer, though he fixed Tracey in a rather cold glare.

'Oops.' she laughed nervously. 'Sorry, didn't mean it quite like that.'

The young Black nodded slowly, his eyes still on her. 'No problem. How is she?'

Tracey looked at her best friend, who kept thrashing around in her sleep. 'Honestly? It keeps getting worse! I don't think she's gotten any peaceful sleep for the better part of the last few days. I have to force her to eat, too. She's also been skipping pretty much all the lessons.'

Harry stared at Daphne as she murmured something, crying silently in her sleep.

'I-I think she keeps dreaming about her dad...You know. Harry, you need to _do_ something or she'll snap and take some brash, drastic and totally Daphne-like stupid course of action!'

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, messing up his rather dubious haircut even further. 'It's not such a simple matter. You should know that well enough. I can't just keep pressing or...slacking as it were. Can't you keep her calm and out of harm's way for a little while longer?'

'Just a bit, please! I know it puts the plan at risk but she won't stand it for the whole fortnight. Even if it becomes a bit more obvious, I still think we're in the clear here...'

Harry turned around, sighing deeply. 'Alright. I'll see what I can do, though that is really all up to Draco in the end.'

Hermione was as busy with her studies as she'd ever been. Not only were the end of the year tests (from her perspective at least) looming ever closer, but she was also currently devoting a lot of time to Draco's and her contribution to helping Harry. While Hermione was really not one to have problems with organising herself or her schedule, the four to five hours she was now regularly spending with Draco were starting to cause problems.

Right now, she was desperately trying to do her homework justice without devoting too much time to it, which basically meant that she refrained from re-checking all relevant background information in the library, as much as this irked her. So far, her grades hadn't suffered, of course, and she really would not allow that to happen in any case. This was _school_ , after all!

Grumbling unhappily about the lack of time that caused her to make dire sacrifices, she opened another book she had borrowed from Madame Pince for her schoolwork. To her increasing distress, Snape seemed to have gained new levels of vindictiveness as of late, setting them vicious essays and incredibly hard or frankly obscure questions. Most of her fellow students just seemed to give up, resigning themselves to being chewed out by the snarky Potions Master. But that thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

'You're looking busy, Hermione. Is this maybe not a good time?'

Hermione looked up and was momentarily taken aback when she realised that Jermaine, her first friend she'd made in Ravenclaw, was standing near the bookshelves, a stack of Transfiguration books in his arms.

'Oh, no, not at all! Please take a seat. We really haven't crossed paths often recently.'

He smiled kindly. 'True, though _I_ haven't changed my habits. How is it that you're spending so much less time in the library? You used to be here for hours each day.'

Hermione fought for a smile, trying to bridge the awkwardness. 'Yes, well, I have been really busy with some non-canonical school stuff.'

'I see.' He nodded. 'In that case, I sure do hope your efforts bear fruit. Well, I need to finish my essay for McGonagall. I'll be seeing you around!'

'Uhm, yes, thank you. Take care!' She waved after the retreating figure.

Hermione was just about to dive straight back into her homework when a familiar voice scared the living daylight out of her. 'Seems like a boring bookworm to me.'

'Draco, don't sneak up on me like that!' she admonished him in a hissing tone. 'And keep your voice down. This _is_ the library. You know, in case you haven't been here often enough to tell.'

Draco rolled his eyes lazily. 'Sure, sure.' He took a seat in front of her and looked disdainfully at her Potions research material. 'You're still bothering with that? I don't know what's gotten into Snape, but I don't think he _really_ expects us to finish all this stuff. It's more about having a reason to shout at Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors if you ask me. He won't dock points of Slytherin anyway.'

'That's not the problem,' huffed Hermione, shooting him a disapproving look. 'I'm sure we can learn a lot if we follow his schedule.'

'Sure,' Draco admitted easily. 'About exhaustion and burn-outs, I suppose.'

Hermione, who was slightly puffed up about him mocking her earnest effort, chose to ignore his statement and dragged the books closer to her as if to partially block Draco from her vision.

'Has Jermaine approached you often these last few weeks?' Malfoy asked out of the blue.

'W-what?' responded Hermione, totally bewildered by the question.

'I mean,' said Malfoy slowly, 'has he come to talk to you on a regular basis. And what sort of stuff does he want to talk about?'

Hermione stared at him, completely transfixed.

'I think it's slightly suspicious how he kept asking what you were up to. Don't you think he could be in on this? Him approaching you despite all the bad blood between the houses and all that.'

'Oh, no! No, no, no! Don't, just don't, Draco! Jermaine is not spying on me! I've been friendly with him for almost my whole stay here at Hogwarts.'

'Even more suspicious.' Draco leant forward as if to let her in on some big secret. 'He could have this planned from the get-go. And now you're so convinced of him being your friend that you won't even question his motives...'

'Sometimes,' Hermione shot up, looking down on him with a certain measure of fury, 'I can't help but wonder who really _is_ my friend, Draco, and that includes you! You're getting paranoid! You can't just accuse everyone I know of being up to some nefarious plot!'

Without another word, Hermione stormed out of the library, leaving a blank-faced Draco behind.

'No...no! Leave him be...Father...' Daphne rolled around, tears still flowing from her eyes, her voice dripping with agony and a feeling of helplessness.

Tracey clasped one of her hands in both of hers, exerting a comforting amount of pressure. 'I'm here, Daphne,' she mumbled softly.

The familiar voice seemed to rouse Daphne from her slumber, as she slowly opened her eyes, staring into the golden eyes of her best friend. She abruptly sat up, trying to wipe the stains the tears had left on her face with the blanket, gently freeing herself from Tracey in the process. 'How late is it?' she asked in a small voice.

'About nine in the evening,' her friend answered with a slightly crooked smile.

'You should've woken me! I just wanted to have a short lie-down...'

Tracey shrugged. 'You haven't missed anything, and you really could do with a bit of a nap. Even if it might not have been very peaceful sleep.'

Daphne turned her head away. 'I was talking in my sleep again, wasn't I? I told you not to pay that stuff any attention.'

Tracey grabbed Daphne's hand again. 'You don't have to play tough with me, you know?'

Daphne didn't answer. Instead, she laid back down and turned on her side so that her face was hidden in the shadows of the room, still clasping Tracey's hand. Unspoken words passed in painful silence.

'Tracey?' Daphne eventually whispered when her best friend was finally convinced that she'd fallen asleep again.

'Yeah?'

'I won't forgive whoever tries to meddle with or drive a wedge between me and my family.'

Tracey looked with growing concern, down at her best friend. There hadn't been a shred of a doubt in Daphne's voice.

Hermione finally reached the Slytherin common room after her long detour through the castle to cool her temper. Draco really got to her sometimes. Clicking her tongue in displeasure at the thought of her annoying partner in crime, she straightened her pose, walked towards the hidden entrance, and said the password, 'Superiority'.

It was rather late by now, so it didn't come as any particular surprise that the room was mostly deserted. A few third years were still huddled around some kind of paper, laughing and pointing. Some Slytherins in their NEWT or OWL years were still awake, too, frantic looks of pent-up desperation clearly discernible in the hectic movements of their quills. Hermione's eyes, however, were glued to the isolated character in the corner, book in her hand, eating an apple in a distracted manner which caused her to miss her mouth at times, and a shiny prefect badge on her robes. Smiling a bit at the scene, Hermione walked over to her.

'Good evening, Miss Fawley.'

The prefect gave a tremendous start, followed by a squeal of embarrassed laughter. 'O-oh, hey, Hermione! Sorry, I was kind of drawn in by this.' She held up the book she'd been reading: _Forgotten Feats or Fantasy? A study of ancient magic by Typhonius Titus._

'Wow!' said Hermione in a suitably hushed voice, her eyes glowing with shared enthusiasm and reverence. 'That _does_ look fascinating.'

'It is.' Fawley grinned. 'Remind me to hand it to you when I'm done with it.' Putting the book on the small table next to her, she adjusted her pose to face Hermione properly. 'So? How's it going? Still busy?'

'Well, yes,' responded Hermione hesitantly, her gaze still on the marvellous tome. She sighed longingly. 'But it's not going so well, to be completely honest.'

Fawley smiled encouragingly. 'Sometimes, we just have to pull through despite how fruitless our endeavours seem at the time. Breakthroughs only follow hardships.'

Hermione returned a weak smile. 'That is true, I suppose. But it's not just all the work, you know...I wish people were as easy to read as books.'

Fawley stood up, her eyes glinting mischievously. 'You look like you could use a bit of motivation. I was just about to start my rounds, but how about I show you my favourite spot in Hogwarts first?'

Hermione bit her lip, her gaze flickering from the door to the Prefect. 'It's rather late, isn't it? Wouldn't we both get into trouble? The rules regarding the curfew clearly state that...'

'Oh, come on, Hermione!' Fawley slapped her chummily on the back. 'Don't go all McGonagall on me. It won't take longer than an hour anyway. And today's supposed to be a clear night. It's really beautiful up there with all the stars, you know.'

When Hermione still looked torn, Fawley added with an amused grin, 'You should check out the place right now before you get yourself a boyfriend, you know? Or you might soon find yourself desperately in need of a private and romantic location and no clue whatsoever.' She laughed.

'Oh, stop that!' Hermione playfully nudged her back. 'I really have other things on my mind right now.'

'And that's why you need to take a break sometimes. Come on, I promise the place is great!'

'Well,' Hermione answered, still unassertive. 'Well, I suppose I could do with a distraction.'

'Splendid!' Fawley smiled victoriously, positively dragging her towards the secret entrance and out into the obscurity of the night.

'Good morning, everyone!' Hermione cheerfully greeted Daphne, Tracey and Draco, who were all sitting at the breakfast table.

'Morning, Honey!' Tracey answered with a gigantic grin.

''Lo,' was all a downcast-looking Daphne uttered. Hermione didn't fail to notice that her plate looked mysteriously clean.

'Hello, Granger. What's gotten you into such a good mood so early?' Draco raised an eyebrow.

'Oh, you know. Lots to do, no time like today. Right?'

'If you say so,' Draco returned with a shrug.

'Where's H-' A sharp kick from Tracey interrupted Hermione's innocent question. 'Ow!' Locking eyes with the petite witch, Tracey's eyes moved towards the side, in the direction of Daphne. Greengrass had slumped down, her face pressed against her empty plate, her enviably glossy and long blond hair flowing like a carpet over a sizeable part of the table.

'He's not here, Granger...' she grumbled.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Could you make yourself just a tad more transparent, Greengrass? I think some Hufflepuffs down the hall haven't seen you sulking at the sound of Harry's name yet.'

'Piss off, dog-face!'

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but before he could retaliate, Tracey placed a placating hand on both of their shoulders. 'Now, now. Could we please just get along and enjoy our meal? I know we're all a bit stressed out but you could at least make an effort to get along...'

Daphne shrugged. An impressive feat, considering her face was still lying on the dinnerware. 'Whatever. Ask your questions, satiate your curiosity, Granger. I'm beyond caring at this point...'

Hermione looked with uncertainty from Daphne's collapsed form to Tracey, who returned an equally awkward and helpless little smile. 'W-what's he up to? I mean, I know about all of your situations, but what has he been doing all this time? I've seen him in the library, combing through some tomes about charms, but surely that can't be all, right?'

Daphne turned her head, her eyes racing between Draco and Tracey, obviously equally expecting.

'He's...learning some kind of spell,' said Tracey slowly. 'I'm not sure about the specifics, to be honest.'

'That's all?' said Hermione, slightly taken aback. 'Draco and I go through about a thousand documents and he's learning...one spell?'

Draco placed his teacup carefully and without any sound on the table. 'You can switch, go right ahead, Granger. Har-' His eyes shot towards Daphne for a second. ' _He_ admitted to me that even Flitwick advised him against learning it. Apparently, it's only really research material and there are no practical instructions that you can find in the library here. It's definitely not something students are supposed to learn.'

'Is it dangerous?' Hermione asked suspiciously.

'Of course, it is.' Draco loaded another fried egg onto his plate, not even looking up. 'Equally dangerous as a Tripping Jinx at a set of stairs or Jelly Legs when standing atop the Astronomy Tower.'

Hermione, gurning slightly, sent a punitive glance towards Malfoy. 'Why is your imagination so dangerous?'

'It's just a matter of fact, Granger. Blinding yourself to the potentially lethal uses of what most consider harmless first year charms or jinxes is nothing but a show of ignorance.'

She turned towards him, slightly surprised. 'That doesn't sound like something you'd say.'

'Yeah, well, okay,' he conceded grumpily. 'That one belongs to Harry.'

'Haaah.' A long sigh of suffering escaped Greengrass' lips on cue to the H-word.

'Will you give it a rest already, Greengrass?' Draco snapped, clearly irritated.

'Fuck you,' she responded with her famously civil tongue.

It was another three days later that a severely stressed and sleep-deprived Hermione made her way towards the greenhouses. Her hair that always threatened to cross the border to bushy mane was standing up in all directions, giving her a wild and slightly demented look.

Muttering to herself under her breath, she tried to keep track of everything she still had to do that day. History of Magic had been relatively tame today, thankfully, and Professor Prewett had refrained from giving them any additional work. But then there was McGonagall's tricky task about Switching Spells, not to mention Snape's positively horror-inducing essay topic of 'The usage of dried fungi in medieval potioneering.' Then she was supposed to meet up with Draco, of course, which was in and of itself not too bad, except there was now a definite sense of dread at the prospect of not getting any results. There wasn't even a week left by now, and they were no closer to identifying anyone than they'd been seven days before. Draco had also gotten rather moody as of late, probably due to the same kind of duress she was under, she mused.

Usually, Tracey would keep her company, and she never failed to improve Hermione's mood, telling hilariously exaggerated stories, funny anecdotes of her past, or just sharing vicious-if entertaining-gossip. But everyone, even Hermione, could see that Daphne was a walking disaster, ready to explode anytime nowadays. So now Tracey was more or less devoting all of her time to keeping her entertained, cheering her up in any way possible, be it smuggling butterbeer into the girls' dormitories, or somehow getting her hands on a giant dartboard with Professor Rose's head on it. The board also winced and complained when hit, which, to their relief, turned out to distract Daphne for nearly a whole day.

The only person she had to talk to, aside from the peculiarly grumpy Draco was Fawley, seeing as Harry was ever so busy. And indeed they had spent two evenings in a row now chatting idly about their problems and playing chess or Exploding Snap. Yesterday, they'd simply hung out, enjoying each other's company in relaxed silence. Fawley, Hermione was surprised to realise, was rather isolated within the Slytherin common room, too, though the reason for that completely eluded her. She was likeable, clever and a Prefect – it really was baffling. When Hermione had tried to ask her about that in a kind way, Fawley had simply ruffled her hair and laughed the issue off, saying that she'd rather enjoy the company of those she could honestly cherish than those who only pretended.

A small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth at the thought of the open and friendly witch, Hermione continued her stride with a spring in her step until she saw a lone figure resting in the grass, quite obviously asleep, a book on top of his head.

It was Harry.

Positively flummoxed, Hermione halted her steps. _That can't be Harry, right? What's he doing here? I know he doesn't attend History of Magic, but surely... Is he really just taking a nap?_

Hermione approached slowly, biting her lip. When she was two feet away from him, she softly called his name. 'Harry? Harry, you've got to get up, you'll miss Herbology!'

'Whazzup now?' Harry, clearly startled, bolted right up.

'Have you been sleeping out here? It's much too cold for that, Harry!'

'Oops.' He paused for a second and tried to covertly rub the sleep out of his eyes. 'I guess I must have fallen asleep, then. Thanks for waking me.'

'You shouldn't force the issue, Harry. I'm sure you'll get the spell eventually.'

'Ah, don't concern yourself with that. I finished working on that three days ago already,' he returned groggily, straightening his tie.

'You...finished already?' she asked, bewildered.

'Yes. Don't have a lot to do right now, to be completely honest with you. I was just having a look at some future course work and must have forgotten the time. Thanks for waking me, Hermione!' He smiled at her.

'...don't have a lot to do...' she repeated, stunned and confused.

Stretching sleepily, Harry finally stood up. 'Well, the wind seems to have played a prank with my belongings.' He laughed sheepishly. 'You go on ahead, Hermione. It'll take a while to gather it all.'

'Harry?' she asked in a fit of daringness that stemmed from confusion and anger.

'Yes?' He turned around to look at her, his hair messed up in a lazy manner, his clothes wrinkled, his expression blissful from the sun shining down on them in early spring.

'Professor Prewett...He always goes on and on about how the Blacks have an agenda for socialising with people. I-I don't want to believe that, of course, but you know...I thought that I'd ask.' She bit her lip and stared at her shoes. 'Do you...I mean did you have some kind of reason or...plan in mind when you first opened up to me? Do you have some kind of...profit in mind that will ultimately benefit you thanks to our friendship?'

He looked at her as if she'd asked if he wanted to trade his wand for some obscure perversion of Muggle origin. 'Of course, I do.'

'I-I see,' she replied quietly, forcing herself to avoid his eyes. 'I'll go on ahead if you don't mind.'

She turned on the spot, burning with shame, and nearly ran down the path, fleeing from her own stupidity and naïveté.

So this was it. Her dream demolished; her friendship fought for and forfeit; her bonds battered and broken. Harry was facing her in the dark corridor, his strangely dark wand outstretched and aiming straight at her heart, a foreboding and deathly ill, green spark already at its tip, the cold body of Professor Prewett lying at his feet.

'How could you, Harry?! I thought we were friends!' Hermione shouted hotly to make herself heard over the strong gust that blew through the halls, tears dancing like leaves in the wind.

'Friends?' Harry repeated the word as if to taste it. 'You're so simple, Hermione. And here I thought Draco's lectures were starting to rub off...'

'I wonder why I even bothered,' Draco sneered with pronounced disgust. 'For a second, I thought she might be useful, but she's just different from us. Too different. She'll never make it!'

'NO...no! I'll learn, I promise I will!' she pleaded desperately.

'Please! Stop listening to her! We don't need her! Look at how she's wearing those Muggle flop-flops with her silken robes.' Daphne laughed in a shrill manner at her. 'Muggle through and through.'

Hermione looked down at her feet, eyes widening in panic. 'No, please listen to me! It was an honest mistake, I promise I'll never wear orange flip-flops and black robes again!'

'Sorry, Honey,' interrupted Tracey's tiny frame. She was almost invisible, standing in the shadow of the giants named Harry and Draco, her usually friendly smile twisted into a mad grin of insanity. 'I'll just be friends with someone else instead. _I_ can be friends with whomever I want, after all. Unlike a bookworm such as you.' A malicious thought seemed to have struck her, as her grin gained even more diabolical power, her blindingly white teeth and glowing golden eyes illuminating the hallway. 'Oh, I know! How about I make friends with Miss Fawley and Jermaine? Then you'll just be a nobody.'

'A nobody,' cooed Daphne happily, nodding in agreement.

'A nobody.' Draco crossed his arms, looking expectantly at Harry.

'Harry...please,' Hermione whimpered, staring into the eyes of her former friend. 'Please!'

'A nobody,' Harry agreed with the rest, his voice falling like the final blow of the judge's hammer. He raised his wand.

'Nooo!' Hermione screamed, raising her hand to shield her face against the vortex of green light.

'Death-magicus horribilis!' chanted Harry nefariously, just as the giant green parchment of destruction smothered her face.

Hermione awoke in the dormitory, soaked in sweat, her ears ringing, her heart beating furiously in her chest as if threatening to burst free. She stared wide-eyed into the dark, keenly aware of the other girls' soft breathing. Slowly, she got up, wrapped herself in a light mantle, grabbed her wand and went down to the common room. The warm and thankfully bright fire there had never seemed so inviting before.

To her surprise and immediate discomfort, the common room still wasn't empty. Incredibly unwelcome and unbidden, Draco sat near the fire, calmly filing what seemed to be an endless list of reports. He didn't turn his head when he addressed her. 'Good evening, Granger. Still up so late?'

'N-no...couldn't sleep,' she replied, cursing her shaking voice.

Draco looked at her, taking in her shaken and clammy appearance, causing Hermione to tighten the fastenings of her mantle.

But he just shrugged. 'Take a seat by the fire to warm yourself. It gets really cold down here in the dungeons.'

Hesitantly, she followed his advice, making sure to seat herself as far away from him as possible without appearing impolite. 'Do you often work down here so late at night?' she asked to distract herself, staring into the familiar fiery glow, watching the flames dance their endless struggle for domination.

'Yup, fairly often. I like it down here, but I can't really work on personal stuff when Zabini or Parkinson are around. So I usually end up doing that bit when it's empty. A few others seem to value the night for its privacy too, of course, but we don't trouble each other.'

'Doesn't it bother you?' she eventually asked in a hushed tone, still not looking up from the flames, basking in the ingle that promised safety and light.

'What do you mean?' he asked in a neutral tone, still busy with his papers.

'That you have to hide a lot of your true self from people like Zabini and Parkinson.' Hermione's voice was barely even a whisper at this point.

A log in the fire cracked as loudly as the roar of a fierce wild beast, ripping the conversation in two for the merest fraction of a second.

'No,' said Draco simply, his voice echoing through the looming dark where shadows clawed at the edges of reality.

When Hermione eventually awoke in the morning, she found herself all alone, her only company the cold ashes hinting in sad despair at the shattered illusion of sheltering warmth of the bygone day.

'I'm telling you, Draco, a few days ago I saw him lying in the grass, enjoying a nap in the sun! There's no way he's busy if he can afford to take it so easy!'

'Stop your complaining, Granger. I'm sure he was just taking a break,' Draco rubbed his eyes, sighing in clear annoyance.

'No! The thing is, he told me that he'd finished his work on the spell days ago. He was just lazing about; he practically told me as much! I just don't see why we have to go through this completely insurmountable workload when he's not even helping. We're doing this for his sake after all!' Hermione shouted loudly.

'Shut up, Granger!' snarled Greengrass. 'You don't know anything about Harry. Did you actually think to ask if he's working on something else now that he's finished with the spell?'

'N-no,' admitted Hermione after a small pause. 'But nevertheless, he frankly and openly said that...'

'No, Hermione. You need to trust Harry if we want this to work. Even if he said something stupid, that happens to all of us at times. If you want my advice, take it up with him once this is all over. Don't pay too much attention to the small stuff!' Tracey, positioning herself between the two girls, was clearly trying to douse the flames, arms raised in a peaceful and conciliatory manner.

Hermione turned around, pulling her own hair in chagrin.

'Come on, Honey! We're all under stress here. Let's not make a big thing out of this, alright? Let's...let's just get on with it. We've only got three days left!'

'Even though I still don't know why we're in such a hurry all of a sudden,' grumbled Hermione, obviously still dissatisfied. 'Well, I suppose you're right. But I'd really appreciate it if you could just be a bit more open with me.'

'We will be as soon as you start earning our trust,' muttered Greengrass scathingly, causing Tracey to kick her shin and Hermione to glare at her.

'Shall we get on with it?' Draco interrupted the girls. 'Granger, didn't you say yesterday that you found the whole order of events somewhat strange? Let's go over that again now that the girls are here. Perhaps they have some sort of idea.'

'I'm a girl, too, you know,' she hissed angrily before collecting herself somewhat. 'Well, I just had a thought that, while Harry was having it rather rough the moment this whole...Nott-thing came to pass, it only got particularly ugly once he returned from the holidays. I mean, before that it was mostly jinxes and pranks, no outright willingness to endanger his life, right? But all that changed when he returned.'

'Well, it's obvious it has something to do with the ball, isn't it?' Draco repeated the argument he'd made to Hermione yesterday. 'But I just don't see the connection. I mean, Rose is supposed to be a stranger here, right? Why would they attack him more ferociously now that he has some kind of friendship or something with her, no matter how inappropriate it might be?'

Daphne snorted derisively. 'Maybe because she's a lying floozie that chats up her own students?'

'I, uh, I actually think it's kind of the opposite, Daphy,' interposed Tracey, smiling awkwardly and bracing for the storm.

'Excuse me?' Daphne flared up instantly.

'Look, Daphy. It's, uhm, it's no secret that most of the boys kind of fancy Rose, right?'

'I suppose so,' Greengrass admitted grudgingly.

'Now, wouldn't it be kind of easy to manipulate those jealous types into doing something rough?'

'Well, that's as easy as pie,' chipped in Draco. 'I mean you'd literally only have to say something like "Oh, hey, look at that upstart hogging our Professor Rose. Let's teach him a lesson!" or something. I mean those Gryffindor and Hufflepuff types aren't exactly brainiacs.'

'Well, that does, admittedly, make a certain amount of sense, but there's just one bit that doesn't fit,' Hermione insisted, stomping her foot in frustration. 'The attack on Harry was done _before_ the rumour about Harry and Professor Rose spread through the castle. I heard Neville telling it first hand to his housemates, and that was _after_ the attack.'

'Well.' Draco waved her concern aside dismissively. 'He could've just said that because he knew you were overhearing him. I've told you so already, Granger!'

'And I'm telling you that he wasn't just telling tales! Not everyone's as manipulative as you!' Hermione shot back angrily.

Tracey harrumphed loudly. 'If we accept that the attack happened before the rumour spread, then someone who knew either first or second hand about that Rose thingy was the culprit for stirring things up back then. It's easy, isn't it?'

'I suppose it's possible.' Draco recognised the point. 'But there were dozens of people who could've been told by their relatives that Rose and Harry were a bit, er, close during the Black Ball. It wasn't exactly hard to see, you know?'

Daphne flicked her tongue in displeasure. 'They danced a bit. Big deal!'

Tracey and Draco exchanged a silent glance. Everyone knew better than to challenge Daphne's point or to remind her of her dark mood during the ball.

'Were there any other students actually _at_ the ball? I only saw Tonks, and she finished last year, right?' Draco bravely stepped into the breach of being the next target of Daphne's foul mood.

'Let me check on that.' Hermione sprang to action. 'Your reports also include attendance to social events, so it shouldn't be too hard.'

They all stared at her expectantly as she worked through the mountain of papers with slightly worrying speed and efficiency. 'Well, this is easy. According to your information, only Harry, Neville, Tracey, Draco and Greengrass attended as students. Oh, and Miss Fawley, I suppose.'

'Fawley?' Draco raised an eyebrow.

'Oh, now that you mention it, I saw her there. Harry pointed her out, in fact.' Tracey looked slightly surprised at her own words.

'Fawley...' Daphne repeated, still as a stone. 'Did I hear that right? Fawley?'

'Yes, Greengrass,' Hermione responded easily. 'But we already agreed that everyone could have gotten the fact second ha-'

But Hermione froze. She'd seen the Greengrass heiress angry, or so she had thought, when the girl had smashed her knee and screamed at a volume that threatened to tear her vocal cords. But all that, she realised now, was nothing in comparison to the icy glare of mad rancour she now displayed while staying as still as water. Hermione took a step back. 'H-hold on, Greengrass. Let's think this over carefully!'

'What do we have on Fawley, Granger?' asked Draco curiously, ignoring Hermione's protests.

'No! You can't be serious! It wasn't Miss Fawley! Don't start with your paranoia again! It wasn't Jermaine, and it wasn't Miss Fawley!'

'I didn't know you knew the Fawley girl, Hermione,' said Tracey, apparently caught off guard.

'Listen!' Hermione forced herself to remain calm, quelling the rising panic. 'I've talked a few times with her, especially recently since she seemed somewhat alone.'

'Alone...' Daphne repeated softly, her cold glare flashing with intense hate.

'Yes, alone,' Hermione agreed. She hadn't seen Daphne's expression. Even her previous gaze had been a bit too unhinged, so she'd decided to look at other people for the time being. 'She's been very kind! Showing me a few things, like the kitchens or the Ravenclaw roof top. We've talked about her problems as a prefect in Slytherin and such things...'

'Have you told her anything about Harry or what we're currently up to?' Draco asked coolly, standing up.

'What? N-no! I mean, well, we might have brushed the topic a few times, but that's beside the point...'

Once again, Draco ignored her protestations. 'I've seen her talking to Harry, now that you mention it. In the Great Hall. At the time, I thought it must have been an attempt to ingratiate herself, but, thinking back, it might have been something entirely different...'

'You can't be serious!' Hermione cried out loud. 'Stop it with that stupid fixation on my friends, Draco!'

'I think she's our most likely candidate,' he continued mercilessly.

'STOP IT!' Hermione screamed hysterically, close to panic. 'I TOLD YOU IT'S NOT HER! IT ISN'T HER!'

'I say we should bring her in,' mumbled Draco, one hand supporting his chin. 'We should ask her a few questions. She should know something helpful, in any case.'

'And what if she doesn't want to?' asked Tracey sceptically.

Draco shrugged. 'I wasn't about to ask,' he responded nastily.

'NO!' Hermione snapped. She aimed her wand at Draco and furiously shouted, 'Furnunculus!' Not bothering to look back, she ran towards the door, her head a mess, yet one thought was clearly discernible among the confusing maelstrom of emotions as she ran through the corridors, desperately hoping to get to her friend first.

 _This is madness! I need to warn Miss Fawley!_


	22. HD: Run, Hermione, Run!

**Run, Hermione, Run!**

* * *

 _This isn't how it was supposed to be!_

Hermione took flight through some haphazardly chosen corridors of the ancient castle, doing her best to ignore both the various looks of outrage or consternation and her very personal misery. As if it had been their fault, Hermione viciously wiped the tears from her eyes with a fury that suggested a personal affront. Yet, as the rampaging rage slowly ebbed away, Hermione came to a halt, her body shaking, her mind as still and cold as a frozen lake.

Nervously, she took a peek over her shoulder. Her current whereabouts seemed strangely deserted, and the sudden silence and encompassing loneliness felt equal parts welcome and depressing. She couldn't help but feel a small amount of disappointment that neither Draco nor Tracey was following her, desperately trying to calm her down, attempting to explain that it had been a misunderstanding, that all of them had overreacted, that everything was going to be fine.

A few moments passed while Hermione stared in shameful hope back the way from whence she'd came. The passage remained cruelly devoid of solace.

She crouched down, hugging her knees. _Why is this so messed up?_ She lowered her head.

But eventually, her thoughts began to clear up again. _Well,_ she thought fiercely, _maybe this just simplifies things._ Draco had always been a person that was, from her perspective, dancing near the edge of the abyss, at all times threatening to fall off the figurative ledge of morality. Everything he'd done, even when he had seemingly been of assistance to her, had been roundabout, and strangely alien or even hurtful. She couldn't help comparing the obsessively manipulative Draco to the warm and sisterly prefect who'd helped her on so many occasions, be it cheering her up or helping her gather up her parchments. No, it really was Draco who had forced her hand. She wouldn't have chosen one side over the other, but the Malfoy heir had left her no other choice. Now, it was either help Draco or Miss Fawley.

Clumsily getting to her feet, Hermione clenched her fist. _I'm sure Tracey and Harry will understand. And if not..._

She grabbed her wand, wiping the last traces of her breakdown from her face. _Maybe it's better this way._

With renewed determination, Hermione rushed as fast as she dared towards the Great Hall.

 _~BLHD~_

Tracey and Draco stared at the door through which Hermione had just dashed.

'Salazar, I really hate this,' admitted the short girl, massaging her temples. 'Are you sure she's going to be alright? If she loses her head completely...'

'It'll be fine,' replied Draco. 'I guess,' he added a short while later.

'You guess?' Tracey fixed him with a critical glare.

'Well, I don't know either,' shouted Draco unexpectedly, startling his counterpart with his rather unusual outburst. 'Harry insisted. I asked him the same question, and he said to do it like this.'

'Sometimes I really wonder why I put up with him,' grumbled Tracey unhappily.

Draco clicked his tongue. 'Well, I tend to ask myself the same thing occasionally. But you have to admit that his insane schemes work out more often than not.' He smiled smugly at her. 'And it's not like you have a choice, _Davis_.'

'Shut up!' Tracey growled dangerously, her left hand twitching.

Draco's expression didn't change, even though he seemed content to let the point go. 'Anyway, shouldn't we be explaining everything to Greengrass now? Or have you forgotten about that part of the plan?'

'Oh!' She blinked a few times. 'No, of course not. So, Daphy, I guess you have some questions, don't yo-' Tracey's eyes darted to the spot where her best friend had been standing the whole time. Problem was, she wasn't there any more.

'Oh, for Merlin's sake!' Draco cried out. 'You've got to be kidding me! Can't she just keep still a few seconds?'

'Daphy? DAPHNE!' called Tracey desperately. Only silence answered her yells. 'Oops!' she grinned embarrassedly. 'I guess we messed up.'

'Stop grinning like an idiot! We've got to catch her before she gets someone killed!'

 _~BLHD~_

Daphne flew through the ancient hallways like an avatar of fury, her long blond hair blowing in the wind as if it was the golden banner of her righteous cause.

'I can't believe this shit!' she snarled angrily at nobody in particular, shoving a second year who stood in her way. 'THEY SURE HAVE NERVE!' she roared at the school in general, completely tuning out the strange looks and complaints her mad sprint elicited. She was blind with anger, enraged, that Tracey and that stupid Malfoy had planned the whole thing over her head, leaving her to wallow in misery while they planned and plotted. She was angry about the fact that Harry had apparently been bringing the whole thing about without involving her. _As if I was some kind of damsel that needed his help with all of my problems!_

Mindlessly elbowing a few Ravenclaws who just happened to have chosen an unlucky route this day, she grit her teeth. Worst of all, that stupid and pathologically naïve Mudblood had unwittingly been forced to play the bait. Even she wouldn't have gone that far, though Granger was, admittedly, bloody annoying at times. _No,_ she corrected herself silently, an all-consuming fire of hatred rising in her. _The worst is definitely that I couldn't even spot my own detestable cousin acting up._ She took hold of her wand in a death grip, her fingers digging painfully into her own palm. _A mistake I intend to remedy for good. Sorry, Gran!_

 _~BLHD~_

Hermione had problems making her way through the crowd. It was almost lunch time now, and she was fighting with all her strength against the pull of the mass that gravitated towards the Great Hall like a planetoid happily embracing the black hole.

Suddenly, she saw a hint of curly blond hair among the upper years. 'MISS FAWLEY!' she shouted, not believing her luck. 'Excuse me! Please, this is urgent! Excuse me!' She proceeded through the crowd as fast and politely as she possibly could. 'Sorry! Please let me through! Miss Fawley? Miss Fawley!' She doubted her words reached the target of her desperate attempts over the never-ceasing excited hums and chatter of the other students. 'Miss Fawley!'

She was only one corridor away from the Great Hall when a hand shot out of a small alcove between two statues. 'What's up, Hermione?' The prefect eyed her dishevelled clothes and her red face. 'Have you been running here? You realise that I'm supposed to curb such behaviour, right?'

'Miss Fawley! This is no time for jokes, please!' The prefect looked rather amused that Hermione was labelling her duties a joke and was about to retort when Hermione cut her off. 'Please! This is urgent! Y-you've got hide or something. They're after you!'

Fawley's eyebrows rose in confusion. 'What are you talking about? Are you alright?'

'I'm not joking, please! You've got to listen to me!' Hermione pleaded desperately.

'Okay, okay!' The Slytherin prefect raised both her hands in an effort to calm her younger housemate. 'So, uh, who's after me now?'

'Draco! He thinks you're behind all those attacks on Harry!'

'Malfoy?' Fawley asked sceptically. 'How do you know?'

'He just told me!' Hermione tugged at the prefect's robes. 'Please, you've got to get out of here! They want to bring you in and force you to tell them what you know!'

'What makes him think I know anything?' Fawley returned, bewildered.

'He's paranoid! He keeps saying ridiculous things like "Everyone approaching you has motives" and such rot. Please, I-I think he's serious. You've got to tell the teachers or something!'

By now, the Great Hall had swallowed most of the hungry students, leaving Hermione and Fawley free to exit their little hideaway.

'Please, Hermione. What am I supposed to tell Snape? "Some first years are after me. Please protect me"?' She grinned, likely imagining the ensuing reaction.

'I'm not joking, Miss Fawley!' Hermione insisted passionately.

'Alright, keep calm, Hermione.' Seeing the clearly distraught state of the younger girl, Fawley stopped grinning and produced her wand. 'I know a place where they won't find us, and then I'll get in contact with a few people to sort this all out, alright?'

Hermione was still unconvinced her friend was taking the situation seriously but nodded nevertheless.

'How long do you think we have until someone finds us he-'

A flashy curse cut Fawley's sentence short, forcing both of the girls to duck. They looked up, both of their eyes widening. Where not a second before both of their heads had been, a sickly green substance seemed to sizzle at the masonry, eating its way through the stone. Wary, Hermione turned towards the source of the magic. There stood a girl, brass and brazen, with long and sleek blond hair not unlike Miss Fawley's, her wand outstretched and murder in her eyes.

'Oh, crap,' Fawley muttered.

Hermione looked in confusion from Fawley to Greengrass. 'What?' she uttered eventually.

'No time to explain!' Fawley grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the nearest staircase that led away from the Great Hall.

'STAND AND FIGHT, YOU FUCKING BETRAYER!'

Fawley hastened her steps, dragging Hermione along with her.

'Can't you do something to stop her?' Hermione shouted in panic when two jets of orange light overtook them with blinding speed, missing by a hair's breadth.

Fawley drew up her wand. ' _Stupefy! Reducto!'_

Hermione winced, imagining being hit by the combination of both spells. But her momentary worry was clearly misplaced as another set of jinxes shot after them. 'STOP PLAYING AROUND AND LET THE CLUELESS IDIOT GO, DAMN IT!' Daphne howled after them.

 _Wait, she's not after me?_ Hermione thought, annoyed but otherwise quite sure that Greengrass was referring to her.

'Hermione,' Fawley whispered as quietly as she could while sprinting along the corridors, still holding the younger girl's hand. 'I think you might have had a point. Let's get out of here!'

'STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU DECEIVING WENCH!'

Fawley broke out into an all-out run, dragging a thoroughly confused and exhausted Hermione after her, shooting spells over her shoulder non-stop. Hallways and side corridors flew past at a speed that led Hermione to believe that Fawley must have been using some kind of magic, yet even that incredible pace was nothing in comparison to the firework of jinxes and hexes that threatened to hit both of them at every turn. Most of them, Hermione realised, seemed to be aimed at the prefect and, with her helping Hermione keep up, it seemed that she just barely managed to keep them from getting hit.

Another door vanished beyond Hermione's sight just when a hex finally made contact. She toppled over, bringing her friend down with her. As the both of them cried out in shock, Hermione's eyes darted to her feet that had somehow turned into unresponsive wooden replicas of their actual counterparts.

'Ack!' she cried out in panic. 'I can't move! Y-you have to go on alone, Miss Fawley.'

Fawley, jumping to her feet, her wand pointing in the direction the spell had come from, threw a quick glance towards her feet. 'Don't worry. I know that hex, they'll turn back in a few minutes.'

'What is that?' whined Hermione, shaking her legs. The wooden shoes dangled pitifully and uncontrollably in the air. 'That spell's not in my Defence books!' she said indignantly.

Fawley snorted in response. 'Of course, it's not. Hush now, she's here. Try to stay behind me, and let me work this one out.'

Daphne stumbled into view mere moments later. Only now did Hermione realise that some of the curses the prefect had shot over her shoulder had to have hit, as not much of Greengrass' usually impeccable appearance was left in shape: her hair was dishevelled, her robes torn near her knees, and she had a nasty cut on her brow that had forced her to shut her left eye. She rather looked like the last survivor of a medieval massacre.

'Well, you've got guts; I'll give you that, Daphne,' said the prefect, gauging the other girl's condition.

'Shut your ugly trap, you filthy harlot in heat! Granger, get away from that lying mongrel if you know what's good for you.'

'You can't talk to me like that, Greengrass! First you hex me and now you presume to order me around? What's wrong with your head!?' Hermione shot back, indignant.

'SHUT IT!' Greengrass yelled, her voice easily drowning out Hermione's. 'You don't know what's going on, you stupid girl. That slattern you just warned has been using you the whole time.'

Frowning, Hermione looked at Greengrass, who was patting her side and holding herself up by leaning against the wall. 'You're delusional! And you dare talk about using me?! Look at what Draco's made me do all this time.'

'I don't know anything about the crap that stupid little monkey has made you do, but it's clear as day that bitch right there in front of you has been using you. Wake up, Granger!'

'That's going a little too far, Daphne.' Fawley smiled, wagging her finger in a scolding manner. 'Is that any way to talk to your cousin?'

'Second cousin, actually. And not much longer if I have anything to say about it!' With what must have been an enormous effort, Daphne flung herself away from the wall and lunged at Fawley.

The prefect, however, merely waved her wand wordlessly, and Daphne was sent crashing into the wall again. 'Please, Daphne. You need to learn to apply yourself more. At least try to hex me or something.'

Daphne snarled angrily, spitting blood on the floor.

'I-Isn't that a bit extreme, Miss Fawley?' Hermione asked fearfully.

'Don't worry about her, Hermione,' the girl responded soothingly. 'She's pretty tough for someone who flounces about like a princess.'

'B-But she looks hurt,' said Hermione, clearly conflicted. She crawled a bit towards Greengrass. 'Shouldn't we at least make sure it's nothing serio-'

'Expulso!' screamed Greengrass. A bang that threatened to deafen Hermione was followed by an incredibly shrill yelp from behind her. Looking back, her eyes fell on Miss Fawley, who had her wand in front of her, her curly hair even bushier than usual, as if charged. She wasn't smiling any more.

'Failure, failure, and failure. You lose, Daphne. I'm nearly impressed that you managed to get it close to working, but in the end, you simply fail with your pitiful attempts at magic beyond your abilities.' With a lazy flick of her wand, Daphne's wand shot out of her grip and into the waiting hands of the prefect. 'Your grandmother won't be happy that you're disrupting the negotiations, deary.'

Daphne, who had clearly been in the process of trying to get up again, froze. She blinked several times, before she snarled in a dangerous and gurgling voice. 'So it's you. Now, I finally understand. You're about to sign a marriage contract, aren't you?'

'Ah, so you're more than a brutish warrior princess. I'm kind of impressed.'

'You're about to be married?' asked Hermione, completely lost in the conversation.

'No, no, silly. My little brother will sign a treaty to marry feisty Miss Greengrass here. Or, in the case of her defaulting, her little sister, I guess.'

'What does that have to do with anything?' asked Hermione.

'Well, if you really want to know, the Greengrass family was, for a time, deeply connected to the Blacks, but that just won't do. Neither my family nor Daphne's grandmother wants anything to do with those lunatics.'

'So you're forcing her to cut ties?' Hermione asked in shock.

'Well, more or less. It's for her own good, but she's a bit too pig-headed to understand that.'

'Fuck you! I'll never marry the crippled brother of a megalomaniac whore!'

Fawley's eyes narrowed, and she aimed her wand at Greengrass again. 'Flipendo!'

Daphne's body jerked for a fraction of a second before she was sent crashing brutally into the wall. She screamed terribly, her voice holding Hermione's body in a cold grip of horror. Then, the voice cut off abruptly.

Hermione stood up; the hex impairing her feet had lifted. 'Oh my god! Miss Fawley, what did you do?!'

Fawley looked uncertainly from Hermione to the crumpled body of Daphne Greengrass. 'Damn! I, uh, lost it a bit there.' She rushed towards her cousin, slowly and carefully turning her on her back. She tried to reach towards Daphne's carotid but immediately retracted her fingers, hissing angrily. 'She's one tenacious customer. She bit me!' Standing up, she wordlessly stunned her cousin and headed towards Hermione. 'You alright, Hermione?'

'Yes. Yes, I'm quite alright, thank you,' she responded weakly.

'What the hell's going on here? Daphne? DAPHNE!' Suddenly, Tracey and Draco shot out of the corridor. Their eyes fell on the still form of Greengrass and then fixed Fawley with a cold glare.

'What the hell have you done to her?' shouted Tracey.

'Granger, get away from Fawley!'

'Why, look at that: a congregation of nosy midgets. I didn't do anything, Davis. Greengrass attacked me first physically and later magically. I just had to defend myself. We'd best hurry up and get her to the infirmary, though.'

Tracey rushed towards Daphne, her eyes moist and worried. Suddenly, a jet of fierce red light clashed against a shield inches before Tracey's face.

'How stupid are you, Tracey?! Don't lose your head now!' snarled Draco, his wand still outstretched.

Fawley, in contrast, flicked her tongue in displeasure.

'M-Miss Fawley?' Hermione's voice quivered a bit as she eyed the prefect's wand warily.

'Just a second, Hermione. Let me deal with this first,' the prefect answered blandly. She slashed her wand viciously, and-again-Draco tried to shield from the blast, yet this time his effort was in vain as he was gripped by some invisible force and hurled twenty feet across the corridor, his back hitting the stonework with an audible crunch that made Hermione wince.

She shrieked and jumped just as Fawley pointed her wand at the still shell-shocked Tracey. Her tackle caused the blue flames to miss Davis by a few inches. Tracey, finally coming to her senses, made use of the momentarily confused prefect and shot a clever Tripping Jinx at the pair. Fawley, however, merely shoved Hermione in the way of the incoming spell and shouted, 'Stupefy!'

Tracey fell to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Hermione got to her knees and looked in confusion from Draco and Tracey to the prefect who was slowly brushing the dust from her robe. 'W-what's going on, Miss Fawley? They wanted to help Greengrass, why did you attack them?'

'Because they were trouble. I'll never trust a Malfoy, and Davis is a bit too sharp for some random half-blood. Simple!'

'B-but Greengrass!'

Fawley waved her hand dismissively. 'She'll be okay.'

'You attacked them without reason!' Hermione took a step back, her eyes wide with horror.

'Oh, you misunderstand, Hermione. I had reasons. Heaps and heaps of reasons.'

'I-I don't follow.'

'Think, Hermione! Sometimes, you just have to...defend before the attack. Your "friends", the Malfoy brat and Davis, would be trouble. In a few days, Madam Greengrass and my grandmother will seal the deal and then this whole farce will finally be up. Those two will have to take a little break for the time being.'

Hermione stumbled over some stones Greengrass' curse had blasted from the wall. 'Like you did with Harry?' she asked in a horror-stricken whisper.

Fawley laughed excitedly. 'That was the easy part, actually. Most didn't even need much convincing. Sure, after the elder Black's little Wizengamot display, my standing in the house has been ruined, but all that won't count come tomorrow. The Greengrass family will cease its flirt with the Blacks, and my family will finally have enough pull to rid the Wizengamot of wretched pests like the Notts and challenge those hypocritical Pillars. The Blacks have had their chance, and they've ruined it! Now it's time for a new family to take the helm!'

'No!' Hermione shook her head, crawling backwards, away from Fawley. 'No, no, no, no...'

'Yes, Hermione. But Black has a good eye for talent, I'll give him that.' Fawley stored her wand and held out a hand in Hermione's general direction. 'You don't need to grovel at Malfoy's or Daphne's feet. You just need to help me sort this out, and then we'll be set up for life. Might makes right, Hermione!'

'And what exactly, Miss Fawley,' a new voice echoed through the corridor just as a silver jet of light hit the prefect from behind, knocking her off her feet, 'does that make you?'

Harry stepped calmly over the wreckage of the half-demolished wall...


	23. HD: Oblivion

**Oblivion**

* * *

Hermione's eyes were wide with hope as she beheld Harry's magnificent entry. 'Harry!' she cried in happiness and relief. 'Thank goodness. You've got to d-'

'I surrender.' Harry's succinct words echoed through the corridor, bouncing harmlessly off the walls, eventually finding their way into the ears of Miss Fawley and Hermione, where they started a riot.

'WHAT?' cried Hermione.

'You what, Black?'

Both Hermione, who'd been caught up in the act of cheering for Harry, and the rising Fawley stopped in their tracks.

'B-but Harry...!'

Harry, however, merely stowed his wand and put his hands in the air, glancing towards his unconscious friends. 'I give up. I surrender myself into your custody, Miss Fawley.'

Hermione goggled at him. There was no other word to describe her expression.

Fawley aimed her wand somewhat hesitantly. 'Expelliarmus!'

Harry merely shrugged as his wand flew from his sleeve and landed in Fawley's outstretched hands like a cold fish. Fawley gazed at him suspiciously, eyeing him and the wand in turn. 'Is this really a wand? Feels dead to me.'

A brief flicker of a smug grin flashed across Harry's face. 'Ask Hermione. That is the only wand I have.'

Fawley walked towards Hermione, who backed away until she hit a wall. 'What does Black's wand look like, Hermione?'

'I-I' Hermione hesitated. Her eyes desperately sought out Harry's as if to confirm what she should do. Harry, to her astonishment, had sat down and assumed a formal looking pose, not unlike a diplomat awaiting negotiations. He didn't meet her eyes. 'I-I don't remember.'

'Hermione, if you keep lying to me, I'll have to test both wands on Black.'

'I always believed it was a tropical wood, a dark one. Approximately eight inches,' Hermione answered in a quiet voice.

Fawley stared at the wand. Then, she waved it about. Nothing happened. Scrunching her face, she levelled it at Harry's face. 'Tarantallegra!'

But yet again, there was no reaction. Fawley's brows furrowed in confusion. 'How come it won't do anything?' she snarled angrily. Inspecting the wand more critically this time, she brought it very close to her eyes, turned it over slowly and even gave it a short experimental sniff.

'What in Merlin's merry...' She raised her own wand. 'Accio wands!'

Hermione's faithful wand jumped out of her pocket in addition to the wand in Fawley's other hand making a little jerk. 'So this really is your wand. Or at least the only wand you brought,' Fawley said, astonished.

'Yes, Miss Fawley,' responded Harry politely.

'Harry! What are you doing?' shouted Hermione, waking from her befuddlement. 'You had her knocked over! Couldn't you have done something to disarm her?'

Harry shrugged dispassionately. 'Not necessarily. Miss Fawley still retained control of her wand when she hit the ground. Therefore, she was likely to defend against any further spellwork once the element of surprise was lost. I'm no hero, Hermione. You only get one shot at such things.'

'But...but you can't tell me that knocking her over is everything you can do!' Hermione stared at him accusingly.

'Hermione, please be realistic. I know some advanced material in Charms, and I quite like the subject. But, except defending myself, I'm no genius at duelling. Look at Daphne; frankly, that girl's twice as tenacious as me, and she knows some really scary hexes. I don't know if I could beat her in a duel, and even still Fawley wiped the floor with her in a matter of seconds. How do you expect me to win against a prefect who's at the top of her year?'

Hermione couldn't help but notice that Fawley seemed to regain a bit of confidence at those words. Even though she _knew_ that Harry was being sensible, she still couldn't shake off the thought that something was very wrong. And if the last few weeks (and especially the last hour) had taught her anything, then it was to never let go when you thought something was off.

'B-but the spell you've been learning, Harry!'

'Oh.' Harry smiled at her briefly. 'That wasn't something you'd typically use in a duel, Hermione.'

'So, you just give up? Is that it?' Hermione asked in a slight panic.

'Well, as you've heard, I surrendered myself to Miss Fawley. It's up to her now.'

'Yes, and this little bit doesn't make sense, Black.' Fawley approached him, her eyes still distrustful. 'I know you're not _that_ stupid. If you surrender, then there's some iron-clad reason why I can't blast you to smithereens.'

'You mean besides the fact that my family will wipe out everyone you hold dear in retaliation?' Harry asked mildly.

Her eyes narrowed. 'Yes, besides that.' She flicked her wand, and it briefly pointed towards Harry and Hermione. 'I know we're alone here, and we're in an abandoned part of the castle right now, so even if you overheard me earlier, there's no guarantee that you'll live to tell about it.'

Harry shrugged. 'An astute observation.'

'M-Miss Fawley?' Hermione whined pleadingly.

'Shush, Hermione. So? What's your angle?'

Harry indicated the floor opposite him. 'Please be seated, Miss Fawley.'

'Don't go crazy on me now, Black! It's me who's holding the wand, you know.'

'Yes, I'm aware of that. But I'd still like to conduct our negotiations in a civilised manner,' said Harry, still clad in an eerie air of composure.

Fawley hesitated. Then, to Hermione's astonishment, she sat down in a similar fashion to Harry. 'So, you'd like to negotiate your terms of surrender, huh?'

Hermione stared at the pair of Slytherins as if they were aliens from the moon. Not a few seconds ago, they'd been at each other's throats, yet here they were, talking. Something was going on, something somehow related to this incomprehensible pure-blood stuff.

'No. Instead, I'd like to discuss your own situation, Miss Fawley. I'd very much like you to cease your attacks on me and my friends, personally or by a third person, to desist from meddling with Hermione, and, lastly, to stop your agenda to further your family's politics at Hogwarts.'

To Fawley's credit, Hermione thought, she didn't burst out laughing. 'And why the ruddy hell should I do such a thing?'

Harry smirked humourlessly, startling Fawley. 'Well, Miss Fawley, let's talk about your motivation for a second.'

'What are you talking about, Black? Have you gone nuts?'

'Your family, Miss Fawley. Do you love them very much?' Harry asked, still polite, yet there was something behind that little grin, and that little something was starting to give Hermione the creeps. _They still have power, and they still have some rather scary things going on. Better be careful, Honey..._ Tracey's words rampaged through Hermione's mind, nearly deafening her to the conversation. A shudder ran down her spine.

'What the hell are you up to? Of course, I do! I'll do anything for...for my...' Her eyes widened in panic, darting across the room as if trying to remember something. 'What the-' She jumped up, walking around in a circle in an agitated fashion. She began murmuring, tapping her head with her wand once in a while.

Hermione slowly turned towards Harry, who still sat rigidly and formally on the floor.

Fawley stopped. She pointed her wand at Harry and shouted wildly, her voice thick with fury and, Hermione noted in astonishment, fear. 'What the hell have you done, Black?! Tell me! You tell me right now, or I promise I'll make you! Did you cast a second spell after your Knockback-Jinx? Did you have Hermione cast one? Tell me! TELL ME!' she screamed hysterically.

'Why, what gave you the impression that I cast such a Jinx at all, Miss Fawley?' Harry smiled predatorily.

'What...what have you done?!'

'Well, assuming that you're not really interested in the technical answer, I'd have to say that I cast an incomplete and modified memory charm on you.'

Fawley froze. 'A memory charm?' she repeated in a husky voice. 'Undo it!'

'It's not quite that simple, Miss Fawley. Usually, it takes a lot of time to use the charm with any degree of efficacy. Since I didn't have that sort of leisure, I skipped a few parts of the spell here and there. It took a while for the spell to work, and it will take a lot longer to unravel it. And before you get any smart ideas, Miss Fawley: without knowledge of which steps I skipped and precisely which memories I targeted, St Mungo's will need years and years to undo the damage.'

'You don't scare me so easily!' Fawley screeched, though her voice betrayed her dread. 'Memory charms can be undone. There are even potions for that sort of thing!'

'Usually, you would be correct, Miss Fawley,' Harry responded, lowering his head politely in acknowledgement. 'Yet it is quite possible to overload the spell with as much power as you have, and, without any intention to boast, please rest assured that my personal affinity for charms is rather substantial. To quickly undo the damage without permanently damaging your brain, you'd need an individual of uncanny skill and at least several times the power invoked in the original spell. Incidentally, such an individual exists at this very place, but I do wonder if you'd like to negotiate with our esteemed headmaster, who, I'd like to kindly remind you, would be honour-bound to present all criminal actions to the Wizengamot in his function as Chief Warlock. Naturally, healing such damage would include him reviewing your actions of this very day via Legilimency.'

Fawley continued to stare at him. It was almost comical, Hermione thought, at least if you had a really black and twisted sense of humour; the gifted prefect, armed, dangerous, cunning and superficially in control of the situation, looked completely at a loss for words when confronted with the frail, politely smiling fourteen-year-old first year.

'What have you done, Harry?' Hermione asked eventually when she couldn't bear the silence any longer.

'I destroyed all connections between her memories and her family,' he replied easily, coldly eyeing Fawley as she sank to her knees and began muttering. 'She can vaguely recall everything, but the people are missing. It's like cutting the faces out of pictures. She'll never be able to see them like she did in the past. If she were to meet her mother right now, she would likely walk past her.'

Hermione shivered again. 'That's...that's really cruel, Harry,' she said in a sad voice.

'In comparison to what? Beating her senseless in a duel? Threatening her family? Have a good look at the situation, Hermione. As soon as Miss Fawley and I come to an agreement, everything will be resolved and nobody will have suffered any lasting harm. If you can tell me a better way, any single better solution, I'll gladly consider it.'

Hermione gawked at him. She didn't have any better method, of course. How was she supposed to think of a better plan in the brink of the moment like that? Deep down, she knew that this might be a way, not the best way, true, and certainly no honourable way either. Nobody would come to harm, everything would be resolved as peacefully as possible, but still she felt pity for Miss Fawley, who had confided in Hermione that her family, especially her little brother, meant the world to her. And now that world had vanished like a cruel awakening in the morning.

'Give me back my family,' Fawley whimpered. 'I-I know I love them...B-but I can't remember! WHO ARE THEY?!' She screamed, clawing at her face with her fingernails.

Hermione, despite the disillusionment, regret and animosity she held towards the prefect she had thought her friend, stumbled towards Miss Fawley and embraced her. Fawley sank into the embrace and began sobbing heart-rendingly. 'Harry, are you sure you can reverse the effects of the charm?'

'Yes,' he answered earnestly. 'It won't even take an hour. But first: the terms, Miss Fawley.'

The prefect, however, continued to shake and sob in Hermione's arms. 'Give me back my family,' she whispered again.

Hermione shot an imploring look at Harry, whose eyes flickered away from his beaten cousin to give Hermione a cold look of determination. 'The terms, Miss Fawley.'

'Miss Fawley, as soon as you come to an agreement, this will all be over!' said Hermione in a strange mix of soothing and urging.

Eventually, the girl nodded very slightly, still buried in Hermione's arms.

Harry, taking this as a sign to begin, unrolled a long and heavily adorned parchment. 'You will publicly admit that, against the wishes of your family, you attacked me and my friends in an effort to strengthen your political clout. You will try your best to keep the House of Greengrass out of any potential trouble resulting from your confessions. You will never again mention the political dealings between your family and the House of Greengrass. You will never directly or indirectly approach Hermione, me or my friends again unless we expressly invite you to. You will never again try to instigate any other person to meddle with the House of Black's affairs or try to achieve the same end on your own.

'You will also never disclose the contents of this agreement. In exchange, the House of Black will refrain from its lawful right to attack the House of Fawley. The House of Black will make sure that, publicly, all guilt will fall to you personally, leaving your house in the good graces of the Wizengamot. I will personally guarantee that your memories will return this day if you agree to this. And, lastly,' Harry added, rolling up the scroll and handing it to Hermione, who was surprised to see some kind of magical contract spelled out, from which Harry had been citing, 'as a bit of a favour, I promise you that I'll be keeping your brother from harm next year, should any vultures descend upon what they consider weakened prey.'

'And if I refuse?' Fawley asked weakly.

'You'll forever wonder if the people who claim to be your parents aren't puppets of the Pillars or even the Blacks. In all honesty, you'll likely go mad with paranoia. You might even accidentally attack your real family. Should such a thing come to pass, your family will be finished. The Greengrass family or any other line with a better claim will likely absorb what's left of your pull and wealth at that time.

'Or, alternatively, you'll spend the next thirty years in a hospital bed wondering the very same things. Either way, as soon as the word gets out that you were responsible for the attacks on me, which, given that this is Dumbledore's school, is likely to happen, your family will cease to exist the very next day.'

Harry calmly stood up, straightening his robes. 'Take the deal, Miss Fawley, or watch helplessly as your family gets swallowed by your very personal and equally real nightmare of oblivion.


	24. HD: Loose Ends

**Loose Ends**

* * *

Harry shuffled through the castle, delaying the unpleasant bit that was to come for as long as he could while his mind wandered back to his last encounter with Fawley. The girl had been broken and only too eager to tell him anything he wanted in the end.

'So, tell me,' he had said while he was performing the necessary steps to restore her memory after she'd signed the contract. 'Why did you kill Nott?'

It had taken a while for the sound of his voice to provoke any kind of reaction from the girl, who had only just stopped sobbing and crying for her family. '...dnofm...'

'Come again?' Harry remembered asking.

'I didn't off the brat,' she had said, her eyes empty and her voice hoarse.

Harry shook himself, bringing his mind back to the present. He had other things to think of at the moment. Things that would, sadly, more than likely prove to be equally tricky.

 _Merlin, they're not going to be happy with me._ He felt guilty pleasure at the fantasy of Daphne and Hermione at each other's throats while he slunk away unnoticed. Sadly, with Tracey acting as a buffer of sorts between his spoiled pure-blood cousin and their Muggle-born friend, that outcome seemed even more unlikely than both (or maybe even all three) girls ganging up on him. Shuddering at the thought, Harry resigned himself to accepting his comeuppance.

Carefully peeking around the corner and completely ignoring his somewhat tarnished dignity, which scoffed at his actions, he was relieved to see Daphne apparently asleep. He wouldn't run from her, but he did seriously doubt that he had the mental fortitude to deal with two headstrong girls at the same time. Neediness in the form of a constant starvation for attention from him, or the never-ending silent demand for more information; both were equally tiresome.

'Stop skulking at the entrance, Harry, and come in already!' Madame Pomfrey stood by the doorway and motioned for him to enter.

Harry fidgeted a bit but eventually sighed again and entered. At least Poppy wasn't raging at him.

'There you are. It's good to see that you're in one piece. When I heard there was spellfight in the abandoned part of the castle, I was sure I'd be hosting you again here all too soon. Are you sure you're healthy?'

'Yes?' Harry answered, uncertain.

'Eating enough, are you? You're looking a little peaky.'

'Er...'

Harry was spared the need for a more sophisticated answer when a thoroughly disgruntled Hermione shouted so loudly that both Harry and Madame Pomfrey winced. 'HARRY BLACK, YOU GET HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!'

Madam Pomfrey patted him comfortingly on his shoulder. 'Ah, yes. Miss Granger and Miss Greengrass have both been rather...vocal in their demand to see you.' Turning away from him, she approached the shirty Slytherin first year, poking her with a wand, quite obviously admonishing her for having the audacity to shout in the infirmary.

Nervously looking towards Daphne, who still hadn't moved, Harry slowly made his way down the empty beds until he stood next to Hermione, a pitiful attempt of a smile on his face. 'Er, hello, Hermione. Good to see you're so lively. How are you?'

'Don't give me that nonsense, Harry! Professor Dumbledore's just left, and I'm bored out of my mind. Even though I've told Madam Pomfrey that I wasn't hurt, she refuses to let me go. But never you mind that! Draco woke up some time ago, and he's been rather forthcoming.'

'Whatever do you mean?' Harry asked neutrally, glancing at Draco's bed, which was nearest to Hermione's. Its occupant, however, had the good grace to at least feign sleep, though Harry found his smug grin to be a little implausible.

'Don't lie to me, Harry...' Her voice sounded frail now and so deeply disappointed in him that his guts turned uncomfortably.

Harry's shoulders slumped, and he sat down on the chair next to her bed. 'I didn't lie. In fact, I don't remember ever lying to you.'

'Why'd you do it?'

'What do you mean?' Seeing her narrowing her eyes, he quickly raised his hands to pacify her. 'I mean, what exactly do you mean. I'm not denying anything, but you'll have to be a bit more specific.'

'You knew Fawley was using me. You knew or suspected that it was Fawley who's been riling up the other houses. You had Draco form that little "spy group", and from the beginning you were going to use him to influence me. And you did. You had him become unbearable just so-' She paused for a moment. 'You had him become even more unbearable than usual so that I'd feel pressured into choosing Fawley over his work.' She fixed him with a fierce glare while her bottom lip trembled slightly.

'So, he told you,' Harry answered, blank-faced.

'Yes, he did! And he apologised and mentioned he'd been against this, I quote, "stupid bullcrap" from the start.'

Harry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Eventually, he nodded. 'Yes, I admit I brought that all about to make you realise that you shouldn't so readily trust anyone in the first place.'

Suddenly, the infirmary rang with the sound of a steak smacked on a cutting board. Blinking, Harry wondered where that thought came from until his face started hurting as if burning tar was melting his skin off. Hermione looked at him, her hand still outstretched, tears in her eyes. 'You're no better than her!'

'Hermione,' Harry tried to pacify her, bravely ignoring the pain that made speaking somewhat difficult, 'I couldn't be entirely sure. Surely you see that I can't just do something until I have incontrovertible proof. The only thing I knew for certain was that she was taking advantage of you.'

'Exactly like you did,' Hermione shot back scathingly.

'Well, not exactly like that, but I appreciate that you must feel rather angry with me.'

'I'm not angry, Harry; I'm hopping mad at you! You weren't better than her at all! I was so glad when I saw you, so relieved that you'd come. And then this!'

Harry kept his mouth shut this time, avoiding her gaze. He'd known she'd be livid, and, what's worse, he had to admit that she had every right to be cross with him. 'Draco told you you'd be a spy for him. While I admit that it would probably have been more appropriate for us to tell you when and what you'd work on, the matter of the fact is that your cover was so good that, well, not even you suspected.'

He levelled a small smile at her that instantly shattered when it met with her frosty glare. 'Don't you dare talk to me like this is a game. You've used me! I've trusted you, and you've used me all along! I don't even know why I'm still talking to you.'

'Hermione, I promise everything I've done in regards to Fawley was to stop this whole situation without any escalation and to help you realise that she's been manipulating you.'

'Exactly like you did, you mean?' she hissed furiously, her eyes red and still laced with tears.

'No,' he replied honestly. 'I was always upfront that I had plans. And while I admit that I used that fact to push you when you found me near the greenhouses, that doesn't mean that was part of some grand deception. Listen, if you don't start realising that Hogwarts is a political machine filled with poisonous vipers, you're going to come under fire, literally.'

'So how does this make you better than them again?' she shouted, pointedly ignoring the matron's shushing gestures.

'The difference is that I don't lie to you, and we've told you everything, haven't we?'

'Just...go. Just go, Harry. I don't want to deal with you right now.' Without another word, Hermione turned around, though that didn't help to muffle her snivelling.

He felt like a jerk. Harry couldn't quite explain it, but somehow his guts squirmed as if he'd done something fundamentally wrong despite knowing quite well that Hermione really needed a wake-up call if she was to survive the next few years, whether she remained in his circle of friends or not. Furrowing his brow, he was about to leave when his eyes met Daphne's furious onslaught of ocular power.

Imperiously, she motioned for him to come over with her hand. He complied with her...request.

'I'd quite like to slap you myself, Harry, though I have to admit Granger did a good job of it.'

'Look, I thought you had enough on your plate, especially with Fawley being your second cousin an-'

Daphne's eyes caused him to falter. 'Harry, I'll give you another chance to start this conversation. Otherwise, I will smack you one even though my whole body feels like shit right now.'

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled sheepishly. 'You know how your grandmother thinks of me. I didn't want to give her any more ammunition. Especially regarding the Fawleys, seeing as her own sister is one of them.'

Daphne seemed to calm down a bit at these words, though she still looked mightily unimpressed with him. 'Harry?'

'Yes, Daphne?'

'You're an idiot!' Her hand grabbed a fistful of his robes and drew him nearer. 'I thought I told you,' she went on, whispering now. 'I won't ever allow you to duck out. I will never allow my gran to make me decide.' Her eyes, full of anger, sorrow and insecurity, needily devoured his. 'You promised me...'

'I...I'm sorry. I'll never leave you out again,' Harry answered meekly, offering her a little smile. It was sincere.

'You'd better not!' Daphne returned his smile briefly. Then, she pushed him away from her, though not too unkindly, her voice thankfully calm again. 'Still, to show me how very sorry you are, you will now spend _two_ Hogsmeade weekends with your favourite beauty, acquiescing to my every wish and whim.'

Harry's smile broke somewhat, but he persevered. 'Yes, Daphne.'

'Good, now go.' She yawned pointedly. 'I need to sleep some more, and I'm still angry with you.'

Sighing again, Harry walked towards the door feeling like a beaten dog.

'Harry?' Tracey called out to him, grinning pertly.

'Yes, Tracey?' Harry closed his eyes in resignation. _Why do they all pretend to be asleep?! Is it so enjoyable to watch me squirm?_

'You're so whipped!'

Harry shot her a look. 'Thank you so much for informing me.'

 _~BLHD~_

Hermione stared blankly ahead of her, eyes lowered, not really registering her surroundings, her company or her own thoughts as she more or less floated down the road on a cloud of denial.

'Hermione? Hello, anybody home?'

Hermione blinked in confusion, looking around. Tracey stood next to her, smiling at her gently in an uncomplaining way. 'I'm sorry?' Hermione croaked, using her voice for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

'Oh, come on!' Tracey protested, stomping her delicate foot in a rather cute fashion. 'I'm pouring my heart out here, and you've missed the good stuff.'

'Sorry, Tracey. I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, but...' Hermione bit her lip, not quite sure how to continue.

'Hah.' Tracey gave a quiet sort of sigh. 'Let's grab a Butterbeer. I didn't really want to meddle, but it seems I have to - again. You guys might be all brainy, but you couldn't even talk to your own friends to save your hides! Salazar, I feel like a child care worker...' Shaking her head in annoyance, she grabbed Hermione's hand and dragged her into the Three Broomsticks, smiling and waving to a few people she knew. When they'd found a table, she ordered two Butterbeers and nearly downed her bottle in one go, smacking her lips blissfully. 'That's the stuff!'

Hermione just sort of stared at her drink, nervously playing with the label.

'You're thinking about Harry again, aren't you?'

Hermione first considered denying it, but Tracey's knowing smile disarmed her resistance before she'd even started mounting a defence. 'Yes,' she admitted. 'Kind of hard not to,' she added after a while, pointing out of the window, where a beaming Daphne dragged a thoroughly embarrassed and painfully smiling, stiff-looking Harry through the streets of Hogsmeade.

'Look, we all thought he was being a bit stupid. Merlin, even Draco thought he was in over his head, playing you like a fiddle for the better part of the last few weeks. I'm not excusing any of that - quite the contrary. The very fact that even a Malfoy had reservations should have tipped him off, but there you go.'

'Why didn't you or Draco tell me about it...?' Hermione eventually asked.

Tracey rubbed her eyes before before squeezing Hermione's hand gently. 'Would you rather have suffered for nought?'

'What?'

'Well, once Harry had initiated his insane scheme of forcing Draco into playing you to expose Fawley-Salazar, it sounds even more idiotic phrased like that-this outcome was more or less inevitable. I don't want to say Harry's plan was perfect because it really wasn't. His general idea was solid even though he should maybe start working _with_ his friends instead of just using them as a resource...' She grumbled unhappily before clearing her throat and continuing. 'Be that as it may, you don't know yet how truly pig-headedly, infuriatingly, incredibly single-minded he can be. If you want a guess, his grandfather wanted him to find whoever caused his problems, and from then on that was all his mind was focused on. He's like that, you'll see.'

'So what? That gives him the right to mess with my life?' Hermione asked angrily.

'No, of course not. I thought I'd made that clear. What I wanted to say was that he'd just have continued his plan. If I had warned you, what would have been the consequences? An even greater loss of faith in him and a further delay of uncovering the perpetrator.' She took another gulp from her bottle. 'We were lucky, Hermione. You've heard Fawley babbling on and on about it; if we'd waited a few more days, the thing would've been set in stone. There would have been hell to pay... Daphy and Harry would have totally lost it, believe me. You've never really seen Harry get mad. He can be positively Daphne-sque, believe me.'

'I'm still waiting for you to convince me. Just because it kind of worked out, I should just bow down and forgive him?'

Tracey laughed at that, ordering another round even though Hermione hadn't taken a single draught. 'No, of course not. Actually, you should milk it for all it's worth. Whenever a guy does something so mind-bogglingly barmy, you should let him squirm for a bit. I mean, look at Daphne! I hear she plans on getting him into Madam Puddifoot's. He'll be scarred for life!'

Hermione couldn't help herself and snorted a bit at the thought, smiling at her short dormmate for the first time that day. 'But I don't want that. I mean I'm not into Harry that way.'

'Oh, I think you're misunderstanding something. I don't think Daphne is _actually_ interested in him that way either. Or maybe she is, it's hard to tell with her. It's more about doing something she kind of enjoys while he feels like he's being dragged through hell and back again. Can you imagine something more humiliating for Harry than being seen with Daphne there? Especially given how, er, overbearing she is with him?'

'What? She just does all that to annoy him? All that touching and attention seeking, too?'

'I never said that. Urgh, it's complicated. I don't think Daphne truly knows what she wants in regards to Harry. Just keep an open mind about it.'

Hermione nodded sagely, though she couldn't truly say that she did understand one bit about Daphne's strange fixation on Harry, or-more importantly-why Harry indulged her so.

'But we've strayed a bit off topic. Look, I'm not telling you to readily forgive him. But you can be sure of two things: first, Harry's not the kind of guy to just lie to you. He's always been fairly upright in a strange kind of way.' She squinted her eyes for a moment before a smile spread nearly from ear to ear. 'Like a corkscrew!'

'A corkscrew?' Hermione repeated, aghast.

'Exactly! Like, you don't really know where's up and down or even the direction of his thoughts, but you can be sure that he gets the job done in the end. Harry's like that: curly thoughts to accomplish a straightforward goal.'

Hermione stared at the girl in front of her, frantically trying to keep up. Out of sheer desperation, she took a gulp from the first bottle in front of her.

'But that's not all,' Tracey went on. 'What he said in the infirmary was, I hate to admit, kind of true. Fawley is a bitch; she used you, Daphne and everyone else to increase her own station in life. She's like a cuckoo's egg in a way; nice to look at until she begins to gobble you up. Harry, on the other hand, is more like-I don't know-bitter medicine.'

'Bitter medicine?' Hermione repeated, clutching her bottle.

'Yup! His actions leave a foul taste in your mouth, and you don't immediately feel better afterwards, but you can be kind of sure that all will be fine, eventually. And he doesn't pretend to be anything he isn't. Unlike that cow.'

'Eventually...' The Muggle-born echoed again, taking another drink. 'So what am I supposed to do?'

'Well, like I said, let him stew for a few more days; he's really messed it up this time, after all. Especially with us ending up in the infirmary and all that. Then, when you're ready, let him apologise again, and be sure to grab whatever you want from him.'

'What I want?'

'You confirmed that it wasn't your secret ambition to have him set foot in Madame Puddifoot's, so you need something _you_ want from him. Anything really.'

'And you think he'll give me what I ask for?' Hermione asked sceptically.

'I'm sure he will.' Tracey smiled earnestly. 'I've known Harry for years; he's principled like that, you'll see.'

 _~BLHD~_

Harry walked calmly down the hall, pointedly ignoring the cat calls and whistles of half the Gryffindors and the disparaging or provocative sneers of many a Slytherin.

'Hey, Black! Nice date!' Some Slytherin third years down the hall were positively leering.

Harry's expression didn't change, though a perceptive observer might have seen his eyes twitch slightly. Daphne was still hanging tightly onto his arm, as she'd insisted on doing since they'd entered Hogsmeade.

When they'd finally sat down, Harry made a disgruntled noise and reached for the roasted pork with apple sauce only for Daphne to grab his hand once again. 'On, no, Harry. I don't think you want to eat that tonight. Or any of that sweet stuff later, for that matter. Today, Tracey and I get to decide what you eat. And we want you healthy, so it'll be loads and loads of vegetables. Just like you prefer, I'm sure.'

Harry just stared at her, dumbstruck. Then he lowered his hand, his ears slightly red. 'Yes, Daphne.'

'Do you at least get to decide how you dress, Black?' Zabini asked off-handedly.

Harry's mouth morphed into an angry snarl, yet his cousin put her hand forcefully under his chin and cut off his response. 'Of course he does, Zabini. As long as he doesn't mind changing again if Tracey and I don't approve.'

Harry wanted nothing better than to scream his protests, yet-for now-he decided that he'd better let Daphne play her games. At least for the day. In the end, instead of a biting remark, he settled with low grumbling to vocalise his dissatisfaction.

'Don't you, Harry dear?' Daphne smiled at him, shifting subtly on the bench to sit even closer to him.

'Yes, Daphne, d-dearest,' said Harry, trying hard to look as relaxed as possible.

On the other side of the table, Hermione beheld the spectacle with an open mouth, whereas Tracey was just barely restraining herself from roaring with laughter. She elbowed the Muggle-born witch and winked. 'See? He'll do anything!'

Hermione just nodded, blinking rapidly. 'It kind of hurts to watch. Not that I'm particularly sympathetic at the moment.'

'Oh, what's that?' Someone from further down the bench called out, pointing at the large windows where a majestic eagle owl appeared, carrying a whole bundle of letters and a small package.

To everyone's astonishment, it landed right in front of Harry, who smiled at the bird and petted it while removing the letters. Daphne leant over his shoulder to have a look, but the owl barked loudly until she leant back again, looking annoyed. Harry fed the bird a bit of bacon before it took off with one last punitive look at Daphne.

'Oh, it's tomorrow's _Prophet_.' said Harry, holding the paper.

'How does one even get tomorrow's paper?' asked Hermione with a scowl. 'Isn't the printing done overnight?'

'Well, you have to-'

'How does one get the _Prophet_ one day in advance, Draco?' asked Hermione again, completely drowning out Harry's previous attempt at an explanation.

'Easy,' said Draco, his eyes flickering for the merest fraction of a second from Harry to Hermione. 'If you know the right people, the editor might hand you a provisional pre-print.'

'So? What's it say?' Daphne crossed her arms grumpily, clearly unhappy with how the situation had slipped from her control.

'Well, it's about Fawley,' replied Harry.

'Don't make me grab it, read it out already!'

' _New scheme revealed at Hogwarts!_

 _Headmaster helpless in the face of countless complots?_

 _A new day dawns with yet another terrible revelation of Hogwarts' increasingly unstable environment, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. As recently as a few weeks ago, the_ Prophet _voiced its concern with our prestigious school's apparent inability to control its socially volatile elements only to now unearth the latest scandal. Slytherin fifth year Terese Fawley was found guilty and has confessed to various acts of violence, fraud, bribery and coercion in collaboration with forces unknown. In a public statement, Miss Fawley stated she acted independently and against the express wishes of her family to fight against the public menace that is the Blacks. She has chosen to quit Hogwarts pending ongoing investigations._

 _While the Head of House Fawley has not been available for a statement at this time, we of the_ Prophet _hope for a fair if merciful judgement for a girl who, through ill-advised and misguided methods, still had the heart to do what she considered best for all of us._

 _This latest matter of concern comes at a time when violence and attacks on students run rampant at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. According to exclusive sources, no less than thirty-two deliberate attacks on fellow pupils have resulted in the hospitalisation of students in the infirmary for a course of at least three days. Many attribute this detestable deterioration of public morale with the recent emergence of House Black, whose young heir, Harry Black, currently attends as a first year._

 _Do we have to suffer these insolent and blatant attacks on the public order every time a Black actually does choose to attend Hogwarts?_

 _The board of governors admits to being "concerned over the regrettable increase of physical violence" and vows to found a committee whose sole purpose the...'_

 _'_ Well,' said Draco drily. 'It's astonishing how you still make it in there despite being the victim, Harry. Good job!'

'Well, even I have to admit that's pretty anticlimactic. I mean, even Harry just attending Hogwarts made bigger news than the revelation of Fawley's schemes. What's with all the letters?' asked Tracey nosily.

'The first one... Merlin! W-well, the first one is from an aunt of mine,' said Harry over the rustling of parchment. Hermione noticed that Draco and Daphne seemed to perk up a bit. 'She, ahem, she asks me if I want her to...Emeric's Evil Eye, that's distasteful!' Harry hastily put the letter down, looking slightly disgusted.

'That bad, ey?' asked Tracey sympathetically.

'Erm, yes. Suffice it to say that it's probably better that Fawley is not at Hogwarts anymore.' Carefully, and making sure that only Daphne could have a look at the letter, he opened the other envelope. He'd recognised the handwriting immediately.

' _Harry_

 _I'm glad you've finally managed to oust your immediate opposition, even more so since I now can be sure of your relative safety at Hogwarts. I have followed your request on keeping the deal with the Fawleys, though I might not have chosen to be so lenient if it hadn't been for your plea. Still, it seems like a small price to pay to ensure your well-being – for now. Let me tell you that I've lost many hours of sleep over your situation in Scotland, and it was all I could do to somewhat downplay it all when being interviewed by our family. Now, however, it seems Bellatrix has finally gotten wind of the actual events. I wouldn't be surprised if she decided to write you this instant. Also, seeing as the twins will attend next year, please be sure to placate her as much as possible. You might rightfully ask why I'm writing this in a letter; well, two of your aunts have accused me of giving you too much leeway, though they might have phrased it differently, especially concerning matters of your security. Thus, it will probably be one of them who will fetch you when your term finally ends this year. Seeing as I still have some business to attend to on the mainland, this does suit me just fine, though I do promise that we'll see each other during your holidays._

 _If you have any further concerns or problems, do not hesitate to contact me at once._

 _Your grandfather,  
Arcturus Black_'

'So that other letter was from Bellatrix?' asked Daphne in a whisper, peeking over his shoulder at the letter.

'Yes.'

'Show me!' demanded Daphne in a low voice, nudging him in the ribs.

'You really don't want to read that,' said Harry carefully, fighting the urge to lean away from her.

'Don't be like that, not today. Show me already!'

Harry sighed and handed her the letter, watching with great satisfaction as her face first turned subtly red, then violently green. Eventually, Daphne thrust the letter back in his hand. 'Urgh, that's foul! Even I don't think she deserves that.'

 _~BLHD~_

Harry hastily closed the door after Selwyn came through, spying around the corner to make sure nobody was in the corridor.

'There's nobody else who'll turn up?' Marceus Selwyn was a fifth year prefect and the older brother of the younger Selwyn, who was in Harry's year. He had a big and bulky stature, though his facial features were quite sharp and refined. His attentive blue eyes always projected the impression of amusement through the curtain of coffee brown hair. 'I hope you didn't invite any Notts.' He scowled angrily.

'No,' Harry replied simply.

'And Hannah says she'd rather snog a Dementor than follow up on your invitation,' said Neville. 'Sorry, Harry,' he added with a guilty little smile.

'It's okay. Nothing unexpected.'

'Well, I bet you didn't invite any Weasley to represent the Prewetts, so I guess this is it then?' Selwyn sat down and began playing with a snitch replica.

'Oh, dear me,' replied Harry, patting his pockets. 'Now that you mention it, I seem to have misplaced my invitation for Mr Percy Weasley.'

'Don't bother looking,' grunted Selwyn.

'Let's just get started,' said Neville nervously. 'Why did you call for us to meet, Harry?'

'Right. Well, I just wanted to inform you of what transpired between me and the elder Fawley girl.'

'And why would you do that?' asked Selwyn, not bothering to look up from his snitch.

'Because I want Neville and Abbott to stop their House's juvenile attempts to disrupt my life at Hogwarts.'

Selwyn laughed rancorously. 'And why should they follow your suggestion?'

'Because I can't guarantee their safety anymore.' Turning towards Neville, who looked rather uncomfortable at being in a meeting with those who represented his family's political enemies, Harry inclined his head and continued speaking in a calm manner. 'You know my family, Neville. My grandfather has truly lost his patience in this matter. If anyone, Muggle-born or pure-blood, continues this moronic crusade, they'll be dealt with – harshly.'

'Is that a threat?' asked Neville grimly.

'No, Neville. That is what will happen.'

'What do you offer then?' Longbottom asked.

'Nothing.'

'Nothing?' he asked, annoyed. 'Come on, Harry. This isn't how it's done.'

'I'm offering nothing because this is a service, not a request. I know it wasn't you who instigated them, and for all of Abbott's obvious deficiencies, she's still not quite stupid enough to do something that could backfire so spectacularly. I'm speaking about those degenerates who fell prey to Fawley's promises. Don't deny it!' Harry raised a hand to forestall the inevitable reply. 'I know she did. If you want to keep your loveable and bribable housemates, wash their heads. Otherwise, there'll be a few more empty beds. I got their names, Nev.'

Neville sighed. 'Yes, alright, Harry. I get your point. I'll talk with Hannah, too. But what exactly _did_ happen with you and Fawley? Her family is washing their hands of her like there's no tomorrow. It's a bit embarrassing to watch how eager they are to cast her out.'

And so, Harry told them - some of it anyway. Neville's brow creased as he listened attentively. Selwyn, on the other hand, gave no indication that he was listening at all, his hand snatching the little ball out of the air with practised ease every few moments.

'So why did she kill Nott, then? Has she told you?' Neville asked in confusion. 'I mean, framing you like that was incredibly risky and prone to failure in the first place. You would have needed to be apprehended standing over him, wand outstretched and screaming "Take that, Theodore!" to get a conviction, and, even then, I'm not sure that your family couldn't have pulled something off. Sure, it was a nasty bit of business and your, well, what remains of your reputation's taken a hit, but I doubt your grandfather even _had_ to do something.'

Harry hesitated for a second, a small frown on his own face.

'Harry?' Neville asked again.

'Don't you get it, Longbottom? It wasn't Fawley.' Selwyn's voice was thick with suppressed laughter. 'Oh, this is just precious. Do you actually have any idea who could've done it, Black?'

'...no,' admitted Harry eventually, deciding that it wasn't worth the effort to hide the truth.

'Well, this is hilarious! After more than half a year of suffering Fawley's little games, you're telling me there's another maniac loose? Great, just great!'

'Well, that is...unsettling. I'm really sorry, Harry. For what it's worth.' Neville smiled at him, and Harry suspected he meant it. Despite them ending up on different fronts, he'd at least managed to always remain civil with Neville. Something he was, especially when considering Abbott and Bones, not taking for granted. 'Have you told Professor Dumbledore?' Neville inquired in a worried tone.

Harry and Selwyn just snorted in reply. 'Yeah, right. Silly of me to ask, sorry. Well, I'll speak with Hannah, and we'll see about talking to those who don't have an inkling of what's really going on. Still, I hope we don't have reason to do this more often. Even, er, even without Nott, this is a rather uncomfortable experience for me.' He stood up and walked towards the door. 'Sorry, nothing personal, Harry.'

'Don't worry about it. So long, Neville.'

'Take care, Harry. Selwyn.'

They both watched Neville leave, though Selwyn remained seated. 'So, what's the reason you _actually_ invited me, Black? I'm not as naïve as Longbottom, you know.'

'Isn't it strange how confident the Fawleys were, Selwyn?' Harry's voice was smooth as silk, but his eyes drilled into Selwyn with a ferocity that might have unsettled a normal wizard his age.

'Why would you say that?'

'Well, while both the House of Greengrass and the House of Fawley are respected members of the Wizengamot and the British wizarding community in general, wouldn't you agree that the both of them working together to attack a Greater House is a little out of order?'

Selwyn stared blankly at him. 'I'm not sure I'm following, Black. Spit it out already.'

'Oh! I'm sorry. I'm just surprised you don't think it strange that two Lesser Houses even dare challenge the Blacks when every witch and wizard on the streets can tell you how futile or possibly suicidal such an act might prove to be.' Harry was still staring at him. 'Politically speaking, of course.'

Selwyn looked back, his face as calm as a frozen lake.

'Wouldn't you, therefore, be forced to agree that a third party would have had to have given its silent approval?'

'An intriguing thought,' replied Selwyn, who still seemed relaxed, though his snitch had been resting in his hand for some time now.

'Yes, but who could be so bold, I ask. Surely, the Ministry faction wouldn't associate with anyone who's even remotely connected to the Blacks. The same could very well be said for the Pillars or Dumbledore.'

'I suppose,' said Selwyn coolly.

'Then, I ask, would either the Fawleys or the Greengrasses stoop so low as to ally themselves with the Notts and the rest of the degenerates?'

Selwyn said nothing.

'No, that really seems unlikely. Now then, that leaves only two of the greater factions: the Blacks and the Selwyns.' Harry looked suddenly mildly shocked and puzzled. 'Oh my!' he said, raising a hand to his mouth. 'How awkward.'

Finally, Selwyn's facade broke into a cold sneer. 'Spare me the antics, Black. So what? Are you going to threaten me again? I'm neither dumb nor helpless like Fawley, and you know it.'

'Please, Selwyn, there's no need to be so defensive. This is only a friendly little chat.'

'How quaint,' replied Selwyn, rolling his eyes.

'Incidentally, do you know the name of the last Greater House that challenged the Blacks?'

'No, I don't.'

'Well, funnily enough,' Harry returned, throwing Selwyn a feral smile, 'I would have to look it up myself.'

Selwyn snorted and got up, walking towards the door. 'Well, I admit it's going to be a bit more fun with you around. On the other hand, purely hypothetically speaking, what do you think this outcome would mean for my family? I mean, Nott's still dead. You still took all the blame and lost what little credibility you had. A Lesser House that was closely linked to you is now trying to hastily pick up the pieces of a broken deal, while the Fawleys are just trying to weather the storm. Crouch and Dumbledore look like idiots because they haven't really done anything to help resolve this. The Pillars don't look too good either; what with their little underlings acting like common thugs.'

When Selwyn reached the door, he turned around. His voice was light, but his eyes, Harry realised, were as friendly and warm as the endless reaches of the Arctic. 'Why, now that I think about it, I'd say that the only family not to lose anything due to this unfortunate chain of events would be mine. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Better luck next time, Black!'

 _~BLHD~_

And time finally passed peacefully. It wasn't long until the thick blanket of snow finally melted, and the thawing castle started to glitter and gleam so blindingly that one could hardly look its way. The majestic icicles, hanging from the ridges of the countless towers, that had graced Hogwarts like the kings of winter made way for the inevitable banisher of frost, spring, as it engulfed the ancient masonry with its warming and life-giving breath.

In the second to last Quidditch game of the year, Gryffindor devastated Slytherin, setting a new record by winning with a lead of 490 points. Professor Snape was not amused, and there were rumours of permanent detention every weekend should the team fail to win even a single match next year.

But all that mattered fairly little to Harry, who was sitting in the common room, idly playing with his wand and working through a small stack of books and notes in preparation for the end-of-year exams.

'Have you guys given any thought to the electives?' asked Hermione, looking up from an impressive stack of informational material about the different courses Hogwarts offered.

'It's more about what you get than what you want, obviously,' opined Draco. 'Some teachers are utter rubbish, whereas some electives are easy Es with little to no effort.'

'I wish they'd stuck to letting us choose later. I haven't really had the opportunity to judge the teachers based on their skills yet,' complained Hermione, holding up a small leaflet that read ' _Envision your future in Divination'_. 'What are your picks?'

'Well, I'm taking Care of Magical Creatures and Runes. Hagrid's an oaf, but it'll be an easy Exceeds Expectations if ever I saw one. And Runes is easy, too. I'll probably need to work a bit, sure, but Babbling is said to be fairly competent.'

'Hagrid's not an oaf! He's been very kind whenever I've stumbled into him. Wh-' Hermione seemed to struggle with herself for a while before she continued. 'What do you think, Harry?'

'What?' Harry looked up from his book and blinked a few times, his brain replaying the last few seconds of Hermione and Draco's conversation, mildly surprised that she was willing to rope him into their talk. 'Oh, electives, right. Hagrid's a bit of an oddball, but-apparently-he knows his subject well enough. He's a bit of an, ahem, unique teacher though. And a bit too closely tied to Dumbledore for my taste. I'll be sticking with Runes and Arithmancy.'

'Well, Arithmancy does look fascinating, I have to admit,' said Hermione eagerly. 'But they all look so good! Think I can take more than two?'

'You can, but you shouldn't,' said Draco. 'I mean, it's really your business, but I've been warned by my relatives to not take too many subjects. Not that I would do so in the first place, of course.'

'I don't know,' replied Hermione, clearly unconvinced. 'Maybe I'd better have a look at all of them, and then drop some?'

'Divination is useless unless you're really talented. Given your...heritage, I doubt you'll do well,' remarked Draco. 'And Muggle Studies? Come on, don't waste your time like that. If you really want to have a look at that crap, just borrow a few old school books from the library and give it a glance. No need to take up any commitments, especially when Snape might decline your request to drop a subject.'

'That...seems rather sensible, I guess. Alright, I'll go with Runes, Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures, then.' Hermione made a few sweeping movements with her quill before holding up her application form with distinct pride.

'What are you guys up to?' asked Tracey as she emerged from the girl's dormitory with Daphne in tow.

'Choosing electives!' announced Hermione in a good temper before sighing happily, sinking back into her chair while Tracey sat down on the arm rest. 'This is what school is supposed to be like! None of that conspiracy stuff or wild chases across the castle!'

Harry briefly looked up from his revisions and involuntarily locked gazes with Selwyn, who smirked confidently. 'Sure,' he said neutrally.

'Well, technically, you were more into the fleeing bit, and it was us who gave chase.' Tracey poked her tongue out at Hermione, grinning in good humour.

'Very funny,' commented Hermione darkly, though she too smiled briefly.

'Can't you summon Minnie again, Harry? I want some more cocoa!'

'Snape said I wasn't to call her into the common room anymore. It's apparently frowned upon to have your own elf serve you at Hogwarts,' Harry returned, not bothering to look up again.

'Well, I don't care!' announced Tracey loudly. 'I want my hot chocolate! And it's not like anybody thinks you could get any more conceited, arrogant or braggy anyway!'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Thank you, Miss Davis.'

'Well, for once I agree with Granger,' added Daphne as she sat down next to Harry and winked at Tracey. 'With spring rolling in, there's lots of interesting things going on. Did you know that there are at least three new couples already within just our own year?'

Harry decided to completely tune out the conversation at the point of fourteen-year-old girls discussing matters of the heart. Shrugging, he called for Minnie and ordered a round of drinks for everyone from the thoroughly delighted elf. Sitting back and enjoying his tea, he closed his eyes and mused that, just maybe, Hermione might have a point in so far as the peaceful, uneventful and thoroughly relaxing days they'd shared as of recently had been a balm for his soul.

He tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear Daphne say, '...and then I would want him to trade wands with me just like in those classic romance books to see if we're compatible and...' causing Harry to accidentally spray most of the tea in his mouth across the common room.

'Ew, Harry, what gives?' Tracey cried out, jumping from her seat.

'Er, choked on the tea, sorry,' he invented wildly, his brain racing in panic. 'W-what was that bit about trading wands?'

'Oh, you were listening?' asked Daphne ardently, rewarding him with a beaming smile. 'Well, there's that old marriage custom. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it yet. It's sooo romantic; a witch and a wizard, trading their wands as a symbol of trust, faith and commitment, assuring themselves of their compatibility. It's not really magical or binding, but don't you think it's just...'

Harry lost it again at that point. His movements stilling completely, he sat stock-still, his eyes wide with horror.

'...and so many of Magical Europe's most famous weddings ended with the ceremonial trading of wands. I would just lov-Harry, are you listening to me?'

'What, oh, yes. Fascinating,' Harry answered, fighting the rising blush in his face like never before in his entire life.

'I'm delighted you approve!'

'You're not supposed to tell them, Daphy!' Tracey shrieked with playful indignity. 'It's ruined if they're only doing it because they think we expect them to.'

'Oh, don't worry; I can always pretend that my future husband's a romantic genius, no problem.'

Hermione was watching him, one eyebrow raised and a stunned expression on her face. 'Harry?' she asked slowly.

'Pardon? Oh, er, it's nothing. Don't worry.' _Merlin, Daphne will absolutely_ butcher _someone if ever she finds out._

* * *

 _ **AN1: Pacing, first year and general remarks.**_ _Greetings! As you may now realise, we are nearing the end of Harry's first year at Hogwarts. I know the abrupt ending may be a surprise for a lot of you, but the first year always was, in my mind at least, more about introducing lots of characters, relationships and concepts. And that I did; I've introduced the prosecuted yet frighteningly powerful Blacks, Harry's and Arcturus' good relationship, the mystery surrounding their family, Aenor Rose, the Pillars, Hermione's struggle to integrate into Slytherin and much more. The actual plot, meaning Fawley's scheme to politically trounce the Blacks and Harry was, while certainly present from Harry's first night at Hogwarts, not exactly the main selling point of the first 25 chapters._

 _However, as you might have noted, I've been able to establish a lot of information that contradicts canon without resorting to information dumps or too many flashbacks after chapter three. From my perspective, the first book was needed to establish the world where everything will take place. If you think about it, Harry's first canon year wasn't much different, except that my people and especially the politics are rather more complicated. As a contrast, take a look at this somewhat crude summary: Harry's being introduced into the magical world while stumbling upon his nemesis, who just so happens to be stupid enough to be thwarted by an eleven-year-old while fighting over an invaluable magical artefact that is being hidden in a school of nosy brats._

 _That being said, the next few years may now build upon that which has been established so far, so expect the second and following years to be much more plot-centric and streamlined. In hindsight, I might have arranged a lot of chapters differently (or cut some backstory here and there), but I do not necessarily regret how book one turned out (also, I would've had to endure even more pms accusing me of just wanting to annoy my readers by withholding information)._

 _ **AN2: Hermione and Harry.**_ _In case you're wondering, their situation will be resolved in a satisfactory manner in the next chapter._

 _ **AN3: The last chapter.**_ _I originally intended to publish one big chapter to close out the first year. Now, I have decided against that. Firstly, the chapter would have been too long, threatening to break 20k words. Secondly, it felt even more abrupt to end the first year with only one chapter after Fawley's downfall. Thirdly, I want to use the peaceful and quiet time between their victory and the next year to end it all on a light-hearted note. I know some of you may think that the last bit somewhat breaks with the established mood rather abruptly, and I agree. Still, the end of the first year deserves a peaceful ending. And lastly, I want to finish Hermione's inauguration. It's taken nearly 150k words, but, finally, Hermione has managed to acquire the skill set necessary to somewhat survive at Hogwarts in general and Slytherin in particular._


	25. HD: Inaugurations part IV

**Inaugurations IV**

* * *

The time for the end-of-year exams was nearly upon them, and Harry, who, while meticulously preparing himself, didn't want to expose himself to another of Hermione's little rants, was currently exploring, drifting aimlessly through the castle with the faint hope of coming across some distraction.

His footsteps echoed through the empty hallways. Most of the school was outside, watching Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff duke it out on the Quidditch pitch, which was exactly why Harry chose to roam the castle in its empty and barren glory. No teasing teenagers, no galloping ghosts, no terrifying teachers, no clingy cousins; it was just him and the ancient, historic building bursting with magic. He felt liberated.

Smiling serenely, he allowed his Occlumency to relax a little, but it was difficult. Even though he'd been constantly practising (indeed, he had used most the time he had originally told Hermione he'd needed to 'study the charm' for this very thing), it was still a struggle. It felt like opening the tap only a little bit with the pressure of a giant lake bearing down on him, making him want to rip off the spigot and let it all rush out, make way, to have release. But he did not. He still remembered when he'd accidentally done so the last time. But even beyond that, he felt too elated, too intoxicated when he let loose. He couldn't quite help being a bit suspicious about that.

The colours were still as fantastical and strange as ever, though; the portraits that decorated seemingly every wall of the castle shone in an alluring seawater green, thousands and thousands of barely perceivable strands of animating magic weaved throughout the canvas. It was magnificent – and humbling.

The walls, even the walls, glowed in fiery red colours, murmuring of forgotten enchantments of old, hinting at magic forgotten, every single brick and stone a symphony to his senses.

In the next room around the corner, however, just barely within the reach he allowed his vision, there stood a raging inferno of magic, a vast pillar of unbound, wild and blinding brilliance. He blinked. He'd seen it before.

Harry groaned softly as he pushed his enhanced vision behind the veil of his efforts again; it felt so much better to just let go...

Nevertheless, he walked around the corner, hesitated for a second and knocked politely.

'Come in,' called a muffled voice.

Harry opened the door and entered. It was an old classroom, probably out of use for a century or so. One might happen across dozens if not hundreds of these rooms all over the castle. In the centre stood Aenor, her wand loosely in her hand, in front of her a dark blue...blob with strange red orbs. It seemed to be oozing. A lot of its ooze, Harry noticed, also seemed to have been flung across the room, with Aenor being the only notable exception.

'Fascinating,' she said, not turning around, her eyes focused on the strange thing on the floor.

'What is?' Harry inquired politely, walking up to her, trying not to step onto any of the foul-smelling substance.

'Ever wondered about the original shape of a boggart, Harry?'

'Aren't they thoughts given form? How could they have a shape?'

'Well, that's what I thought, too. But look at that.' She kneeled down, prodding the ooze with her wand. 'Fascinating,' she said again.

'What did you do?' Harry asked carefully, slightly creeped out by the misshapen mass of...something, not to mention that half of it seemed to decorate a substantial part of the room.

'Oh, well, I was experimenting, as a matter of fact. I always thought there was something familiar about the way boggarts transform, so I had a closer look. It wasn't very cooperative, but it turns out it's some primitive-if complex-application of Self Transfiguration. Well, as you know, any Transfiguration can be undone. Sadly,' she continued, still prodding the ooze, 'it seems like it did not survive the procedure. I may have been a bit forceful, perhaps.'

'So, that's a boggart?' asked Harry sceptically.

'I suppose so?' she said, apparently contemplating the point. 'It looks nowhere near like what it used to intimidate me, so I must assume that this is either its natural form or some kind of...accidental reaction to my rather energetic Untransfiguration.' She inclined her head a bit, giving the dead boggart one last prod.

Harry immediately decided that whatever there was that could scare this woman, he really wished he'd never have to deal with it.

'No matter.' She idly waved her wand and the boggart vanished. 'Did you want to have a word? I suppose I have a bit of time on my hands, if you wish.'

'Well, I was just passing time, so why not.'

She nodded and twirled her wand once, ending the motion with a violent swish. Her movements seemed so utterly casual, so offhand that Harry couldn't help but marvel when he saw the whole room start repairing itself; cracks in the wall fixed themselves, the dust on the floor (and the rest of the...ooze on the walls) disappeared, and the windows cleaned themselves to such a degree that even an elf would not have found any reason to complain. Even the brass of the doorknob seemed polished. It was a ridiculous display of magic, Harry decided silently.

Aenor, not even paying attention, wordlessly summoned something through the now open window that looked suspiciously like the desk from her classroom and conjured a pair of rather comfortable looking chairs.

Harry only raised an eyebrow when she sat down behind the desk and gave it an affectionate pat.

'What?! I love this desk!' she said defensively. 'Jealous?' she asked coquettishly, switching gears in an instant.

Harry just shook his head in exasperation and sat down.

'I'm surprised you're not at the match, Harry. I believe more or less the whole school is in attendance. Even Dumbledore's there, letting his hair down – so to speak...'

'Well, I appreciate the castle even more when it's empty.'

'Ah. Already tired of Greengrass and Granger?' she asked knowingly.

'Well, Hermione's still cross with me, so I am her elect target whenever she gets stressed out, which happens a lot with the exams around the corner. And Daphne...Well, Daphne has actually been rather bearable since Hogsmeade. A bit giggly, granted, but otherwise quite nice, really.'

'It really _must_ be nice to be young and stupid,' she commented with a smirk.

'Shut up!' he retorted eloquently.

'Well, I'm sure Granger will come around eventually. She's at least talking to you again; so that's a start.'

Harry shrugged. 'I hope so. She really is pretty smart. I doubt I'll be able to beat her at the tests.'

'Oh? Already preparing your excuses?'

'Please,' Harry waved his hand dismissively. 'I doubt she'll beat me in your class. And I think I'm a touch more skilled than her with Charms too, not even speaking of my head start. On the other hand, all subjects requiring a purely academical approach or practical courses that have us start on even ground will probably be her win. I have to admire her dedication; she really does go to great lengths with her studies and homework.'

'She does,' Aenor agreed. 'She'll be useful for sure. But you'll have to work on her tendency to trust, her belief in authority, her suppressed emotions and her craving for attention.'

'How can you be so mean without even trying?' he asked amusedly.

'Want me to start on analysing you?' she shot back with a wry grin.

'No, thank you,' he refused drily. He leant back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Then, something came back to him that he'd not thought about since the end of the winter break. 'May I ask something about Hogwarts?'

She raised an eyebrow, inclining her head. 'Why would you need to ask for permission? Or why would I know much more than you, for that matter?'

'Well, it might have come up when you were given the job. It also might be something Dumbledore briefs his new teachers on.'

Her expression changed from idle curiosity to puerile delight. 'And why would I give two Knuts about anything the old man says? You're Occlumency is coming along nicely, so I don't see any reason why I shouldn't share whatever he forbids me to. Just ask!'

'I've been wondering,' Harry started slowly. 'About Occlumency.'

'I see. The library, I assume?'

Harry just nodded, watching her closely.

'Well, Dumbledore did indeed say something about that. But you might be surprised to find out that it wasn't his decision to remove most of the books. In fact, that you managed to gather any helpful material about the topic at all should be interpreted as silent protest on Dumbledore's side.'

'Crouch, ey?' asked Harry. Aenor smiled briefly, twirling her wand again to summon two glasses and two bottles. Harry took the butterbeer, choosing not to comment on her consumption of what smelled strongly like fruity liqueur during the day. 'I really don't like the man, but you have to hand it to him. On one hand, he uses the Muggle-borns and half-bloods to empower his own position. On the other hand, if he deprives them of any chance to effectively learn about mind magic...' He took a sip and smiled, looking down at the unlabelled bottle in surprise. _This is some seriously good butterbeer. Tracey would sell her soul for this stuff._ 'Nice drink,' he complimented her absent-mindedly.

'Thank you,' she replied gracefully, pouring herself another near-fatal dose. 'It's from my private collection. You Brits have your good points, but they're not food and drinks. Except your gin, possibly.'

'I beg to differ, my lady,' said Harry stiffly.

'I'm sure you do.' She smiled playfully at him, raising her hand to drink from her delicate-looking nosing-glass, licking her lips sensually, clearly enjoying the taste to its fullest.

Harry's eyes widened slightly, and he hastily looked away. 'How rare is Legilimency anyway?' he asked, just for something to say.

'Quite rare. Very rare even, though you might find it slightly less so at Hogwarts. In Crouch's defence, he has actually forbidden the unsanctioned study or practice of Legilimency. Talent also isn't really a factor; everyone has to study it, doing ponderous meditations, lengthy self-studies along with a lot of practice. A fairly able witch or wizard needs at least ten years to reach competency this way. That's why most who don't need it professionally don't bother. And even then, most can't really do much except interpreting some surface thoughts. Which is also why the average level of Occlumency is so woefully abysmal in the first place.'

'You still seem rather "competent" if you ask me,' Harry remarked, unconvinced.

She just smiled proudly. 'I had a _really_ good mentor, Harry. And it still took me years and years. Why, are you interested? If you think Occlumency is gruelling, I'm not sure you're cut out for Legilimency.'

'I don't really dislike Occlumency,' he retorted. 'In fact, I've spent most of my time recently improving upon it.'

'Well, that's a good idea, Harry. I really don't want to be hunted down by your family for killing you. No pressure.'

Harry rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help feeling slightly nervous. At first, he wasn't sure if he should take her seriously, but now... Unsure what to say, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind again. 'Why didn't you tell me about that wand trading business?'

Aenor looked at him, startled before she broke out in exuberant laughter. She was laughing so hard that her chair was in danger of falling backwards. 'Well,' she snorted with laughter, 'it just was too cute, Harry. Don't worry, it doesn't count if you don't know what you're doing. I had assumed someone had talked you through that whole business with witches and wizards, but at least now you're in the know.'

'Come one, don't make me out to be some kind of innocent child!' Harry protested indignantly. 'How am I supposed to know every stupid marriage custom there is?!'

'Of course, Harry. Whatever you need to tell yourself.' She laughed again.

Harry clicked his tongue in displeasure and turned around to avoid her seeing his burning face. 'At least I _could_ use your wand. So even if I was a bit clueless, your wand didn't seem to mind that part!'

Her laughter ebbed away, and after a moment of silence, she said, 'You're right. You're the only one except for my mentor who's ever been able to wield it, after all.' Harry turned around again and found her smiling at him rather kindly. 'So, for now, you're still my best bet, I guess,' she said, winking kittenishly at him.

'How about it?' she asked after a while, probably tired of Harry staring at her. 'We probably still have some time until the boys who just float around doing nothing catch the ball that doesn't do anything except decide the outcome of most matches while the others are needlessly preoccupied.'

'Wow, that's some enthusiasm.'

'What can I say? I'm not into men riding sticks. Ready?' She slowly lowered her glass.

'What fo-' And then, Harry's head exploded with pain.

 _~BLHD~_

The final exams rushed by in a hurry, at least Harry thought so. Hermione was a mess, and it was all Tracey could do to somewhat soothe her nerves so that the Muggle-born could find sleep the days before. Daphne didn't seem really interested at all, except in her Potions test, which she didn't shut up about for hours. Tracey and Draco just took it in stride, and Harry really wasn't worried they'd mess up. He personally thought he'd done reasonably well. Charms and Defence was a walk in the park. Flitwick had asked him to make a pear walk around the room, and Harry had, without much thought on the matter, made it dance and sing for the tiny professor, who'd cheered and laughed like a gleeful child. After that, it had become slightly strange, with Professor Flitwick asking him increasingly difficult questions and ordering him to perform some rather advanced magic. Harry had managed to perform the Banishing and nonverbal Freezing charms easily enough but eventually had to admit defeat when Flitwick asked him to cast a charm to perpetually refill his tea cup.

Harry made a note to look that one up later.

Still, the questioning had left him rather exhausted, despite Flitwick's beaming attitude, so Harry had barely been able to stay awake through the rest of the day.

It wouldn't matter anyway. He wouldn't fail, and he knew his strengths and weaknesses without his professor's assessment.

 _~BLHD~_

'And another year comes to a close,' began Albus Dumbledore, standing up and beaming down at every one of his students before his features settled into contemplative gravity. 'Probably never before have I so wished for a year to finally finish, and never before have I felt so helpless, ashamed even, to be the headmaster of this time-honoured school. It has been a long time indeed since a student lost his life here at Hogwarts, but-I fear-it might never be long enough. Today, we mourn the loss of Theodore Nott-'

'...not bloody likely,' whispered Draco, making Harry nearly choke on his pumpkin juice.

'Shhh!'

'...the fourth and youngest son of the House of Nott, who was taken from us and his family this year when he'd just set foot in what should have been his sanctuary for six years of learning and finding friends. I cannot find words to express how much it grieves me to stand here, knowing that I and the staff failed to uphold what should be your most basic commodity: safety.

'It saddens me that only his family and older friends here truly got to know him.

'How does one cope, you then might ask, with a loss that was never felt. How does one mourn a friendship that never blossomed? And I answer: every bond, regardless of its age, regardless of its ferocity, regardless of the love you feel, starts as a seedling, starts as strangers approaching each other.

'And we must treasure our friends, treasure these bonds that make us truly human. But tonight, I ask that you remember how you might have had another bond, another friendship, another love that was taken from us before it could truly blossom. I ask you to raise your glasses and drink to the friendship that was taken from us; drink to Theodore Nott.'

And they raised their glasses - at least, Harry thought, most of them did. Draco didn't, and a lot of other Slytherins and-ironically-Gryffindors didn't either.

Nevertheless, the feast had definitely started off rather sombrely. There was a low murmur instead of the rambunctious and elated chatter that usually wafted through the Great Hall. Harry idly wondered how many were truly sorry that Nott was gone. It was an ugly thought, he decided.

'Harry?'

Harry gave a start and turned towards the person who'd raised her voice. It was Hermione. 'Er, yes, Hermione?'

'I want to talk later tonight. And I've also decided how you can make amends.'

Harry raised an eyebrow and shot a look at Tracey, who was pointedly engrossed in her talk with Daphne. 'I see,' he said curtly. 'And what is it, if I may ask?'

'I want you to trust me with knowledge regarding yourself. I-I want to be your friend, but you have to start being a bit more open with me, too. So...so I want you to tell me about yourself. A-And about the Potters.'

Harry stared blankly at her, watching her fret as she seemed to be getting second thoughts as to her request.

'Nice one, Honey!' Tracey slapped Hermione on the back. 'Going all-in, I see. Well played!'

'Tracey...?' Harry growled in annoyance. The petite witch winced a bit before turning back to Daphne.

'Alright. Let's discuss this later,' Harry offered tersely.

'Otherwise, you just have to wait until Greengrass forgets you're there again, Granger. Has a loose mouth, that one.'

At this point, a well-aimed potato smashed into Draco's face. 'You better shut up right now, you conniving son of a...' Daphne stopped there for a moment, her gaze flickering to Harry and back to Draco again '...Malfoy!'

Harry chose to lean back at this point, lest stray vegetables hit him, too. He idly inspected the blazing red banners that celebrated Gryffindor's win of the house cup for the third time in a row and gave Hermione one last nod, silently vowing to pay Tracey back in kind at some later date.

 _~BLHD~_

Whyever someone would choose the top of the astronomy tower to meet late at night was truly beyond Hermione. She climbed the next set of stairs, considering the possibility of Harry just wanting to get one over on her, but she quickly dismissed the idea, deciding that Harry was probably not the type to carry petty grudges. Puffing and blowing, she finally reached the top of the long and windy staircase, pushing against the heavy and ancient-looking wooden door. It gave way with a foreboding rattling noise, the rusty hinges creaking in the wind.

The platform on top of the highest of Hogwarts' towers was huge. Bigger, possibly, than it should have been able to be. It was enclosed by a beautiful old brass fence and varied slightly spooky stone statues. Hermione had always hated those things, especially since they somehow seemed to be moving whenever you weren't looking. She never spent more time up here than necessary during Astronomy for that very reason.

Harry was leaning on the fence, looking relaxed, his silken robes fluttering in the wind. _The wind!_ Hermione thought with a shiver. _Isn't he freezing? What's it with people meeting in cold places at night?_

'Isn't this a little dramatic, Harry? Meeting at the top of the highest tower in the dead of the night? Common room too pedestrian for a Black?'

Harry seemed to find her comment rather amusing, going by his friendly chuckle. 'Well, at least you're not deferential, that's good,' he said over the howling of the wind. The night was as black as tar and the wind biting. Even though she stood barely twenty feet from him, the gale swallowed most of his words. Sighing, and pulling her mantle as tight as possible, she walked up to him, careful not to slip.

'This is creepy and cold, Harry. Can't we go back to the dungeons?' she asked, feeling vaguely unsure about the connection of those last two sentences.

'I'd rather not. There's always someone listening, and I really like it here. I'm not too comfortable with crowds, Hermione. And about the cold...'

He moved his right hand within his robes which, she suspected, held his wand, as they so often did. Immediately, her clothes started radiating a comfortable amount of heat from within, effectively shielding her from the harsh weather. This time, she recognised the charm, too.

 _I doubt he'd appreciate being compared to Miss Fawley, but it is quite amusing. They weren't too different in this regard; meeting at a lonely place in the middle of the night would have been a very Fawley-ish kind of thing to do..._

'I really need to learn that charm,' she said, slightly irritated with herself that she hadn't gotten around to having Miss Fawley show it to her.

'I can show you some other time,' he offered politely, his gaze still riveted on the unseen horizon.

'I'd like that.' She paused for a bit to gather herself. There was much she needed to say, but the start was always the worst. And Harry, it seemed, had no inclination to begin the serious part either. _He could at least make this easier by apolo-_

'I have to apologise.' Harry's voice suddenly broke the silence and her train of thoughts. 'Looking back, I may have been a bit blinded by my desperation to remedy the situation with Fawley as soon as possible.' He was still looking out into the dark as if searching for something, his hair more unruly than ever before, long strands of his black hair dancing chaotically to the tune of the storm. 'I really did want to help you with Fawley, and I really do think you were, possibly are, a bit too trusting to really make all of this work, but I should still have been able to find a better way.'

He turned around to look at her. His face was calm, completely at odds with the raging weather, but a deep determination shone through. 'Tracey was right, too. I _do_ need to work with my friends, instead of just using them. I'm sorry.'

She smiled at him, her own hair nearly blinding her, blowing in the wind like leaves. 'Thank you for saying that. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, could you maybe explain to me what it was that you did to...bring about the events you desired?'

'I see you're trying hard not to say "manipulate",' he said with a bit of a lopsided grin.

'I am trying,' she replied in kind.

'Well, pretty much everything since my hospitalisation. It was one of the plans I had discussed with Draco beforehand. We decided on the last few things when Draco showed me Fawley's dossier. You may remember it - you were there, after all; it was the night Draco threw up soap.'

'A fond memory.' Hermione couldn't help but giggle.

'I agree. Well, everything you and Draco did after that was according to our plan. My plan, mostly, as Draco did indeed have reservations. Tracey knew and disagreed, too, but she's always been a big old softy. We actually intended to make it all a bit more subtle, but there were...circumstances that had us hasten the plan a bit. You finding me sleeping in the grass, or Draco following you into the library were such measures. I was really worried you might see through it, too. I mean, with all the bullying happening, it was a bit strange for me to just lie down there, wasn't it?'

'I guess it was,' Hermione admitted, embarrassed. 'I-I didn't think clearly, I was just so angry, so disappointed... So, Draco being so mean and annoying to me was also a part of the plan?'

This question seemed to trouble him somehow. In the end, he said, 'I certainly told him to be off-putting. But Draco may have a certain kind of talent in that area, regardless.'

Hermione couldn't agree more. 'What was it that made you speed up the plan?'

'That is not for me to share.'

'You mean it's something that happened to Draco? Or was that why Greengrass was so gloomy and dejected?' she asked to clarify.

'I couldn't say,' he replied delicately, and she knew from his tone that he would say no more on the subject.

'That was still a very Gryffindor thing to do, Harry. If I had stopped to think a bit back then, I might have realised you were actively pushing me away.'

'I am aware of that.' He presented her with a small smile. 'And calling me Gryffindor is no insult to me. I believe Gryffindors and Slytherins are maybe the closest of all the houses in spirit. Slytherins have a goal in mind and do everything necessary to achieve it. Gryffindors sort of blunder through the world but do whatever it takes to fight for their conviction when push comes to shove. It's like two sides of a coin, really, and, in the end, it often amounts to the same thing altogether.' After a while, he added good-naturedly, 'Don't call Draco a Gryffindor, though.'

She couldn't help laughing at that. 'Don't worry.'

Suddenly, a particularly fierce gust rattled the fence, nearly deafening her. The door to the tower shut close with a loud bang, making her jump a foot. When she calmed down a bit, she realised that she was holding onto parts of Harry's sleeve. He looked down at her hand, his expression unreadable.

She smiled sheepishly and let go, though she refrained from backing off. He, however, turned away again, leaning over the fence.

'That's dangerous, Harry,' she heard herself say.

'Not particularly. A sufficiently strong gale could probably push both of us over the edge with the fence in tow anyway.'

Hermione just stared at him in horror.

'That was a joke,' he said hastily, smiling briefly to calm her down. 'The fence is quite sturdy, don't worry.'

She looked down, not wanting him to think she was being silly. Eventually, she voiced another question she'd come up with in the past month. 'Have you ever obliviated me?'

'No,' he replied simply.

'Did you consider lying in this circumstance?' she asked curiously, biting her lip and gauging his reaction.

He chuckled a bit at that. 'I believe the question is redundant, but the answer is still no.'

'Why not?'

'There's no real reason to. If I don't want to tell you something, I won't tell you. If I want to make up for my own shortcomings, then I'll do so.'

'Yes, I figured it'd be something like that. Tracey mentioned that you seldom lie, but what's the difference between a lie and misleading someone? You can't take the high ground just because you didn't lie if you still aim to deceive someone, after all.'

'It's not about that.' Harry waved her objection aside. 'Lying is mostly not worth it. You run the risk of contradicting yourself, and keeping up with several lies at the same time may be straining, especially if you have to juggle them when several people to whom you told different things are present. Also, most people don't pay enough attention to really understand what you're saying to begin with. You have to...appraise the situation. A lie should be treated as an auricular acknowledgement of defeat, that's what my grandfather always used to tell me.'

'So why wasn't it worth it to lie to me? You could still make yourself appear better by doing so.'

'Better than what? I'm not in the habit of changing myself just to appease my environment. Well, you tell me why it isn't worth it for me to lie to you regarding this.'

After a short pause to ponder his question, she said in a low tone, 'Because I might find out.'

'Exactly.' He rewarded her with another small smile, before looking back into the night.

'That's so cold, Harry. I-I know it makes a certain amount of sense, but it just seems so cold. Don't your friends mean anything to you?'

That question seemed to upset Harry, as he turned around abruptly, his brow wrinkled in annoyance. 'That's different. I will never sell out my friends, and if I didn't consider you as such, we wouldn't be having this kind of conversation. But I have a lot to lose and little to gain from personal relations. It will take time for me to trust someone, anyone. And there will never be a shortcut. The more you pressure me on this, the more I will have to consider that you have a motivation to force your friendship on me.'

She stared at him, taken aback. 'I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, Harry, really! It's just...so different from what I'm used to.'

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 'I know. I apologise for my outburst. Just...just imagine a block of ice between us. The more we spend time with each other, the more it will melt and we'll be, in turn, able to understand more of each other. But it will take time.'

'That's fine,' Hermione assuaged him immediately. 'I'm fine with that. Well, no, I'm not fine with that, but it will have to do, I guess.'

He nodded. 'It will have to do.'

'Don't you ever get tired of all this? I mean, you always have to consider everything politically, you always consider using people if you perceive them as enemies. Don't you get tired of it all?'

'It can be difficult,' he admitted. 'But I believe my perspective is a bit different from yours. Everybody, everything really fabricates preferable outcomes of events, but most people just choose to not think about it like that. When you subtly let somebody know that you approve of their action, with a kind and innocent little smile perhaps, you're still manipulating a person. Whenever you scold a child, you mould a person. Whomever you ignore, whomever you choose to pay attention to, either way, you're still a factor in what makes him the person he is. You cannot choose to not influence people. We are, to a certain extent, what we are made to be. But even still, and this is the important part, even still you have to fiercely believe that, in the end, despite the differences in upbringing, the subconscious machinations, the events in someone's life, everyone can make his own choices. Otherwise, the world stops spinning. Otherwise, a murderer might as well be the victim. Otherwise, justice is little more than a means of oppression.'

'That sounds like philosophy.'

'It is,' he acknowledged, bowing his head.

'I'm not sure philosophers approve of your applications of their theories,' Hermione remarked, grinning.

'I try to not let it bother me,' he answered wryly.

They shared a moment of silence, though this time Hermione did not mind it as much. 'So...about the Potters,' she began eventually.

'I can't tell you. I'm sorry, Hermione.' The wind blew some stray drops of rain into her eyes, making her blink a few times. 'But I can show you if you want,' Harry continued smoothly.

'Show me?' she asked sceptically.

'Do you want to know or not?' he asked, clearly amused by her hesitance.

'Of course!'

'Then give me your address. I will come over and show you what you wish to know.'

Hermione blinked. 'You want to...come over?'

He inclined his head. 'That is the only way for you to learn. But if you don't want me in your house the-'

'No! That's not it. Er, you can't conjure up some parchment, can you?'

'I'm afraid not. But I do have some parchment with me. If that will do?'

Harry produced a small bit of parchment and tapped it twice with his wand.

'What'd you do?'

'I made it waterproof. Also, you'll be able to write on it with your fingers by subtly applying pressure. It's anything but perfect, but it should do the trick here.'

'What year are those charms from this time?' she mumbled, slightly envious.

'Second and sixth, I believe,' he answered with a roguish smile, as he watched her write down her address with her index.

She held out the parchment to him, and he pocketed it without further ado. 'I will contact you so that we can arrange a time. I have some other business to take care of this summer, so I'm not entirely sure when it will be, but I promise I'll get back to you during the break. I hope that is acceptable?'

'It is,' she replied happily. 'Now let's get out of here before it begins to rain in earnest!'

'Good idea. Descending the stairs when they're wet and slippery is likely more dangerous than staying up here during a thunderstorm.'

'Harry!' She turned towards him in shock again, but he was only grinning. 'Stop doing that! Your humour is awful!'

He shrugged, still grinning.

'Harry?' she started again, after a brief contemplative silence.

'Hm?'

'Draco once told me that "everyone who approaches you has either an agenda or a death wish".'

'Overly dramatic but essentially correct,' Harry commented.

'So, what's your agenda?' she asked, biting her lip.

'I have lots of dreams that have yet to come true,' he answered immediately, slightly surprising Hermione, who hadn't expected an honest answer. 'Changing the way society views me, House Slytherin or my family might be a more achievable plan. But my real goal, my true ambition, is to dethrone the usurpers and turncoats, to undo the great injustice that we have to bear.' He stopped walking, turning towards her, and she could, for the first time, see a kind of childlike euphoria in his features. 'I do not want to regress. I do not want dead traditions to be passed on to the next generation just for their own perpetual sake. But I don't want progress for progress' sake either. And as long as the middle ground is barred, as long as those currently in power seek to oppress us, I will fight tooth and nail to break free of their bonds and shackles, and I will mercilessly crush what they call peace and I repression.'

He stared at her for a second, before beginning to walk again. Hermione just blinked a few times, before following him hastily. 'That sounds a lot like...revolution, Harry.'

'I'm still at school, Hermione. Don't worry. I will tell you once I aim to challenge our glorious leaders, so you can safely detach yourself from my criminal influence in time.'

She hit him playfully on the shoulder 'Prat!'

Hermione silently followed him down the stairs, ignoring the rising headache Harry's little oration had given her. She couldn't really approve, and she had difficulty imagining herself changing so much that this would no longer hold true. Still, she couldn't deny that, in a very crooked and depressing way, Harry's and Draco's actions made a certain amount of sense. They weren't evil. They weren't good either. They definitely weren't kind or honourable. But they _were_ principled, as much as it annoyed her to admit it. 'I think it only now dawns on me what Draco really meant with different values and upbringing.'

'I imagine so,' said Harry quietly.

'But you know what?' She turned towards him and presented him a small smile. 'I think I'm willing to give it a shot.'

 _~BLHD~_

Harry awoke the next morning to the sound of Draco arguing with Zabini over the proper way to fold robes. Groaning softly, he turned around in the faint hope of shutting out their pointlessly animated and heated debate.

'And I'm telling you: we're not in Italy! I don't care how you do it over there. Over here, however, we're doing it right. Stop desecrating your wardrobe!'

'I'm only mildly disturbed how interested you are in my clothes, given how much attention you seem to pay to the boys in the showers,' Zabini replied with a smirk.

'Why, you little-' Malfoy had clearly taken a leaf out of Daphne's book and thrown something at his fellow Slytherin.

'Can you two stop bickering like old laundresses, ladies?' remarked Harry acidly, popping his head out from behind the curtains. He was quite annoyed that his sleep had been so rudely interrupted, especially as he'd been talking with Hermione in the common room until late at night.

Yaxley and Shafiq laughed appreciatively, quite possibly enraging Draco even further.

'You shut up, Black!'

'Yes, shut up, Harry! And start packing already.'

'Yes, mother,' Harry replied sarcastically, grudgingly standing up.

'Hey, Black. I've always been wondering...' Yaxley suddenly asked, looking strangely serious all of a sudden. Yaxley was a lanky boy, easily distracted and equally easily entertained. Harry hadn't really interacted with him so far, same as with Shafiq and the younger Selwyn.

'Yes?' Harry asked tersely.

'I may have a bet on the outcome of the question, so I'd appreciate honesty. If you don't want to tell me, just say so.'

'Alright,' Harry agreed, deciding to humour him.

'How much pocket money do you get?'

Harry just stared at Yaxley, flabbergasted. Draco, however, began laughing shamelessly.

'This is utterly ridiculous,' commented Zabini.

'So?' The Yaxley asked curiously.

'This is the important question you bet on?' asked Harry to clarify.

'Yes!' He replied defensively. 'I bet Macmillan that it's more than fifty Galleons a month.'

'How much did you wager?' inquired Draco, straining to keep himself from bursting out again.

'On the difference between his actual allowance and my guess.'

'Dude, I can't believe how gormless Macmillan is. How the mighty have fallen! I really feel sorry for his ancestors; they must be turning in their graves, wishing they could die all over again to escape the shame,' said Draco, his expression an amalgam of pity and amusement.

'What do you mean?' Yaxley asked, likely confused because he wasn't used to Draco switching gears like that.

'What Draco means to say is that, in the worst of cases, you stand to lose fifty Galleons,' drawled Zabini, looking bored.

Yaxley gulped audibly; it couldn't have been clearer that he did not, in fact, possess the money he bet.

'On the other hand,' Harry continued with a smirk. 'Your possible winnings aren't limited, as such. I doubt you'll get him to pay you more than a few dozen Galleons, but still. Anyway, I don't really have an allowance per se. If I want something, I'll just buy it. There's no real...limit as long as I don't go around buying real estate or something.'

'Wait, what? You don't have an allowance?'

'No, you dimwit,' corrected Zabini. 'He means that he can spend as much as he wants.'

'That's not something I can work with, I can hardly expect Macmillan to give me infinite money. Say, for the sake of the bet, how much money do you have with you right now, Black?' Yaxley asked with a frown.

'I don't know,' responded Harry slightly puzzled. 'Let me check.' He rummaged in his trunk for a while, the others watching him expectantly. 'Hm,' Harry said without any excitement in his voice. 'I guess I have around 750 Galleons here.'

'YOU WHAT?' screamed Yaxley and Draco simultaneously.

'That seems a bit excessive. Even for you, Black.' Zabini shook his head in exasperation and turned around again to finish packing.

'What do you need all that for?' asked Shafiq disbelievingly. 'You expecting to buy brooms at Hogwarts or something?'

'I don't know. I didn't really think about it, to be honest,' replied Harry earnestly.

'This is nuts, Harry. That's much more than what most people need for all their years here combined.'

'I guess,' said Harry with a shrug. 'It's just money.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'And they say I'm spoiled. Well, have fun getting those 700 Galleons, Yaxley.'

Yaxley only now seemed to realise what this meant for his bet, jumping into the air and laughing loudly. Harry, not really caring for his dorm mate's childish antics, shrugged again and began packing himself, with Draco waiting impatiently for him by the door. 'Will you hurry it up? We're going to miss the train, mate!'

'Relax,' Harry replied calmly. 'There's still loads of time.'

'If you want to skip breakfast, you mean.'

'You're annoying in the morning, Draco.'

'Less talking, more packing!'

Ten minutes later, a thoroughly irritated Harry was dragged to the Great Hall by Draco, who was clearly set on not giving up his first meal of the day.

Daphne and Tracey were already there and had, as expected, already finished.

'There you are!' exclaimed Tracey. 'Can't you fix that habit of yours, Harry?'

'I see no reason to,' he replied grumpily, sitting down and grabbing a bit of toast.

'They've handed out our results, you know? I aced Potions!' proclaimed Daphne proudly.

'Nice,' Harry replied without much enthusiasm. Daphne's face fell comically. 'I mean, well done,' he remedied immediately. 'Your mother will be proud. And so am I.'

'Thanks, Harry.' Her frown vanished in a moment to be replaced by the most dazzling of smiles Harry had ever seen.

'And here comes the number one student of the year,' announced Tracey when Hermione walked up to them. 'Where were you off to?'

'The staff room,' Hermione replied, taking a seat beside Harry and staring at him. 'Good morning,' she said, and Harry noted how her voice seemed quite hard.

'Good morning?' he replied, unsure what was wrong. They had actually managed to sort out a great deal last night, or so he'd thought, so he was understandably confused by her attitude.

'Morning, Granger,' said Draco, smiling over his cup of pumpkin juice. 'What's up with you?'

'I'll beat you next year, Harry!' Hermione declared, clearly disgruntled.

Tracey laughed loudly. 'What are talking about, Honey? You've got the top spot in our year: Seven straight O's!'

Hermione muttered something inaudible.

'What? Speak your mind, Granger! I don't want to suffer your murmuring during the entire train ride,' grizzled Draco.

'My "top spot" is not as high up there as you believe it to be, Draco,' Hermione said darkly. 'If you go by the combined points of our exams only, Harry beat me by an accumulated 170%, however he managed to do that. When I was in the staff room just now, I "overheard" Professors Flitwick and Rose rave about it on my way to our Head of House.'

Daphne, Draco and Tracey looked at Harry in shock.

'Oh, I guess that would be because I got 280% on my Charms test. Flitwick told me already,' Harry admitted absent-mindedly in a low voice, his slowly awakening mind already enjoying the prospect of his family library at home.

Silence followed this most extraordinary statement. After a few seconds, Harry's mind caught up with his mouth, and he stopped dead, his toast dangling a few inches in front of his mouth. _Damn! Didn't I just tell Hermione...Oh damn!_

Having suffered at least ten seconds of shameless gawping, Harry started fidgeting uncomfortably. 'Eh, I...I believe I forgot something in the library. I'll see you guys later!'

Someone grabbed his shoulder forcefully and made him take a seat again. Hermione's look reminded him of the one she had given him after his slip-up in their first ever Charms lesson. He raised his hands defensively, bracing himself for the inevitable.

'Two hundred...' Tracey repeated as if under hypnosis.

'...and eighty!' Daphne finished the sentence for her. 'I didn't even know you _could_ _get_ more than 100%.'

'Look, Hermione!' Harry coughed delicately. 'An O is an O. Can't we just drop it? I mean, you likely beat me in every other exam except Defence.'

Tracey snorted and very quietly muttered something to Daphne. Harry tried his best to ignore this and steer clear of that particularly dangerous water.

'It's _you_ who got seven Outstandings; so, I think you thoroughly deserve the top spot. We all know how much effort you put into your studies,' Harry pleaded.

Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'How many points did you get in your Defence test, Harry?'

Harry tried to fight down his impulse to run away. 'What does that have to do with anything, Hermione?'

Tracey pursed her lips and said in an innocent sing-song voice, 'Hey, Harry! Now that I think about it, didn't you fall asleep during your history exam?'

Another silence washed over the group while everyone (except Harry) did some quick calculating in their heads.

'Harry!' Hermione and Daphne exclaimed simultaneously.

Draco just laughed loudly. ' _Another_ result around 200%, mate? I knew you were a glutton for books, but don't you think you're overdoing it?'

'I–I really think I should be looking for my anthology... I'll see you all later!' Harry said hastily and, standing up, hurried towards the great portal that would lead him to tranquility.

Harry ignored the cries of disbelief behind him, but the moment he heard someone making a few loud steps in an obvious effort to catch up to him, he broke into a full-out run.

 _Merlin, I just want some peace and quiet!_

 _~BLHD~_

The train ride was a bit awkward after that, with Daphne and Hermione both grilling him over his exams. In the end, he gave up and just recounted what exactly had happened. Tracey and Draco thought it was all good fun when he described the increasingly implausible tasks Flitwick had told him to try his hand at. Harry was only mildly surprised that Hermione had apparently worked half-way through the second-year curriculum already and was quite able to cast the Freezing Charm herself, though she lacked a deeper understanding of nonverbal spells for now.

In the end, Harry managed to calm the clearly upset Muggle-born when he insisted that she had, quite fairly, beaten him in all other subjects.

'You'll still, of course, attend my birthday party, will you, Harry?' Daphne reminded him in a suspicious voice when they'd nearly reached King's Cross.

'And you will really come visit, Harry?' Hermione asked nervously.

Daphne shot Hermione a dark look but didn't say anything. 'Yes,' Harry said without gusto. 'Yes, I will.'

'Excellent!' said Daphne, clearly happy with the outcome. 'It'll be a small party, of course. A few classmates, perhaps. Nothing too grand.'

Tracey nudged her a few times, and Harry could see Daphne scowling as a reaction to whatever the petite witch was whispering to her best friend while gesturing urgently.

'Fine!' Daphne finally snapped. 'Granger?'

'Er, yes?' Hermione asked, startled.

'You want to come, too?' Daphne asked rather insincerely.

'Er, no. I wouldn't want to intrude. Thank you for asking though.'

Daphne didn't even try to hide the relief she seemed to feel over that answer. 'Okay, then,' she said merrily, ignoring Tracey making a face at her.

They finally arrived only a few moments later, with Harry being ordered to gallantly carry Daphne's and Tracey's trunks, though he suspected Tracey was really just too lazy to do it herself. Having long since learned not to argue over something small like this, he just sighed, pointed his wand at the trunks and said, ' _Locomotor trunks_!'

Hermione watched him interestedly. 'No nonverbal spell this time, Harry? You're slipping,' she teased with a smile.

'Hardly,' he replied curtly, not blinking. 'It's more difficult than it looks with several trunks.'

He levitated the trunks out of the train. Hermione was the only one still sticking around at this point, but Harry didn't voice his dissatisfaction, no matter how thankless his friends could be at times. Two Aurors were watching him with leery eyes, obviously disapproving of his use of magic.

'They don't seem to like you moving them with magic, do they?' Hermione asked, looking at the pair of professional Dark wizard catchers.

'Well, it's a bit of a grey area if this is underage magic or not. But they know better than to stick their noses where they could get burned.'

'That sounded really arrogant, Harry,' Hermione responded reproachfully.

'Still true, though,' he returned with a grin.

'Oh, look! It's my parents! Let me introduce you.' Hermione grabbed his sleeve and ran towards a pair of nervous-looking Muggles, who were clearly overwhelmed with the blatant displays of magic. Harry had difficulty trying to keep up, not stumble and hold onto his Charm, but he just managed to not embarrass himself, while Hermione embraced both of her parents.

'Mum? Dad? This is Harry. I've written you about him. Harry? Meet my parents.'

'It is good to meet you, ma'am,' Harry took the woman's hand and brushed his lips against it. 'And you, too, sir,' he added, shaking the man's hand firmly.

Hermione's father looked kind of overwhelmed, while her mother seemed amused by his formal and antiquated greeting. 'It's good to meet you, too, dear,' she said. She was a friendly-looking woman with big, round eyes, and a seemingly inextinguishable smile on her lips. Hermione's father was of rather a lean stature, even if he did look visibly fit. His hair was very short, though that, Harry thought as he gave the wiry and retreating hairline a glance, might just be his way of dealing with what was apparently Hermione's bushy and untamable hair.

'So, you're the, I quote, "infuriatingly incomprehensible young man" our daughter keeps writing about?'

'Dad! Don't embarrass me, please!' Hermione whined pleadingly.

Her father smiled and squeezed his daughter again.

'How have you been, Hermione? You kind of stopped writing letters a few weeks ago,' Mr Granger asked.

'Oh,' Hermione replied with a blush. 'There was just so much on my mind, sorry.'

'She means to say that she worked very hard for the exams. Your daughter's the best in our year!' explained Harry.

Hermione beamed at him, while her parents looked at her daughter fondly.

'HARRY!' All of a sudden, a small blonde rocket slammed into him, nearly toppling him.

'Hello, Tori,' Harry said with a strained smile, patting her awkwardly on the back.

'Oh, and who is this, Hermione?' asked Mrs Granger.

'I, uh, actually don't know either,' Hermione admitted uneasily.

'Oh! Pardon my manners.' Astoria untangled herself from Harry and dropped a practised curtsey. 'Are you Miss Hermione Granger, by any chance? Daphne's told me all about you. Considering she went to great lengths to portrait you in a bad light, I think we might get along just fine.' She curtsied adorably again, smiling at the Muggle-born.

'Yes, that's me. And who might you be?' Hermione asked kindly, graciously ignoring the elder Greengrass' malicious gossip.

'I'm Harry's bride!'

Harry closed his eyes, though he felt like he could still see the accusing and judging stares of Hermione and her father. _Oh, for Merlin's sake..._

'We've married three times already!' Astoria added as a boast.

'Oh! That's so sweet!' Hermione's mother cooed in a motherly fashion, bringing a hand to her cheeks. 'And he's said yes all three times?'

'Eventually!' the small girl responded triumphantly, raising her chin and causing the adults to erupt in wild fits of laughter.

 _Oh, please, kill me now!_

Daphne and Tracey rescued him from the little bundle of energy shortly afterwards, with Daphne making him promise to attend her party no matter what. 'I don't care if a dragon burns down your house or if you're deathly sick. You _will_ attend my party, understood, Harry?'

'We can nurse you back to health. It'll be fun!' Astoria giggled, clearly on board with the thought.

Harry tried to play it cool but he was finding his patience wearing thin. Tracey, perhaps picking up on that, came to his help. 'Let's get going, Daphy! You'll see him soon enough.'

'Okay,' she replied reluctantly. She walked up to Harry and gave him a quick hug, and Harry was quite surprised that he didn't really mind her doing so. Daphne, to his dismay, seemed to pick up on that as well and, pushing her luck with a cheesy grin, gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

'Hey, no fair!' protested Astoria, stomping her foot, and looking jealously at her older sister.

'See you this summer, Harry!' Daphne turned around with her trunk, giggling at Harry's failed attempt to look like nothing happened.

'You're fairly popular,' remarked Hermione's mother with a knowing smile, watching the sisters banter as they retreated with Tracey.

'Not my choice, I assure you, ma'am,' he said honestly. 'Well, I must be off, too.'

'Wait, Harry! Mum? Dad? Can Harry come over this summer for a day?'

'Not only popular but bold as well, it seems.' But Hermione's mother was still all smiles.

'What's this about, Harry?' asked Mr Granger neutrally.

'I'll only be borrowing Hermione for a few hours. I'll return with her before it's dark.'

'Please, Dad?' Hermione shot his father a pleading look, which seemed to cause his hesitation to wither.

'Well, alright. But I expect you to be a perfect gentleman, Harry,' he said sternly.

'Of course, Mr Granger. It isn't a date, though, if that will ease your concerns.'

'Oh!' he said awkwardly, clearly surprised. 'Well, if that's... I mean – well. There shouldn't be- Well, alright.'

Miss Granger patted his shoulder affectionately. 'You can still ask our daughter on a date if you wish, Harry. It isn't his decision to decline,' she smiled gently.

'I wasn't... I mean... Well, of course, I'd be perfectly happy to-' spluttered Mr Granger.

'Relax, Dad! It's not a date, so stop making such a fuss about it!' said Hermione matter-of-factly, rolling her eyes.

'Well, it was nice to finally get to know you, Harry,' said Miss Granger, apparently taking pity on her husband. 'We'll be seeing you this summer, then.'

'Thank you for your hospitality,' replied Harry, bowing slightly. 'I'll be looking forward to meeting you again.'

'It's quite alright, dear,' she replied, smiling brightly.

'See you later, Harry! Write to me, will you?'

'I will,' he replied with a nod, watching Hermione dragging her parents through the barrier and off into the strange and alien world of the Muggles.

Looking around, he spotted Draco in conversation with his family. With nothing better to do, he wandered over.

'Harry! It is so good to see you!' Narcissa gave him a quick smile, looking him over. 'You're looking well. Did you enjoy these last few weeks?'

'As well as could be expected,' he answered. 'Hello, Lucius.'

'Harry,' the man said without inflexion and with only the most minimal of nods.

'Are you coming with us, Harry?' Draco asked confused, craning his neck, obviously looking for Arcturus.

'I don't know, to be honest,' said Harry. 'Someone was supposed to pick me up.'

'Don't worry, Harry. I'll be dropping you off, today. Your grandfather couldn't make it.' Narcissa pointed her wand at his trunk, and it shrunk until it fit into her purse, where she promptly stowed it away. 'You have everything, Sweetheart? Want to grab a snack before we're off?'

'There you go pampering Harry again, Mother.'

'Let them be, Draco. A wise man never stands between a woman and the target of her pampering.'

'Very true,' replied Narcissa Malfoy, beaming at her favourite nephew, whom, very much like her sisters, she refused to acknowledge as a second cousin. 'Let us be off, Harry. Bella will only wait for so long.'

'She's at home?' Harry asked, slightly alarmed.

'She is. With Arcturus out of the country for a bit, she has insisted that one of us should look after you.'

'Are Amy and Leo there as well?'

'No, they're with the rest of the Lestranges for now. Come now.' She gently took his hand and motioned for him to prepare himself. 'I'll be seeing you tonight, my little Dragon.'

'Yeah, alright. See you at Greengrass' party, Harry!'

'Okay. Bye, Draco. Goodbye, Lucius.'

The man nodded silently, his eyes flickering to his wife and back to him again.

And then the world blacked out, and Harry felt the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube. Not a second later, he appeared in front of their house in the city. 'I thought it might be better if you entered on foot this time, given what happened when you last apparated through the wards.'

'Good thinking,' remarked Harry, quite relieved that his aunt was as thoughtful as ever.

'I still don't comprehend what happened back then,' she remarked, her elegant features creased with apparent confusion. 'Nothing like that has ever happened before.'

'I don't fully understand it either,' said Harry carefully, slowly stepping over the boundary of the wards, focusing as much as he could on his Occlumency and feeling immensely relieved when nothing out of the ordinary happened.

'Well, better prepare yourself to face Bella,' said Narcissa with a wry smile. 'She's been really upset.'

Harry sighed. 'So I gathered.'

The door opened to a soft touch of his hand. 'Ah, welcome home, my boy!' cried one happy painting of a wizard that hung beside the door.

'Finally! Decent company of good repute, welcome back, indeed,' said the portrait of Walburga Black.

Harry smiled at them, especially when he saw a lot of occupants of other portraits rushing through the now empty frames in the staircase with various degrees of dignity to welcome him back.

'Harry!' a shrill voice echoed through the house. 'Did you hex the degenerates? Did you chasten those filthy heathens who besmirched our noble house by daring to lay a hand on my darling nephew? Dogs should know their place when the masters go for a stroll – and those mucky mongrels will only ever learn the hard way!'

'Hello, Auntie Bella,' Harry replied with practised ease, allowing himself to be swept up in her fierce embrace.

And later that night, when Harry was nearly asleep, he allowed his body to completely relax for the first time in nearly a year, laying his wand on the bedside cabinet and out of his immediate reach for the first time ever since he'd left home. There were things to consider, difficulties to overcome, years of Hogwarts ahead of him, but, at this very moment, his mind was finally completely at peace.

And somewhere else, in the deepest bowels of the British Ministry of Magic, half a mile underground, in a dark and nigh-forgotten hall with rows of empty lithic seats, witnessed by nobody and without leaving any evidence of it ever happening, a veil began to _flutter_.

* * *

 _Black Luminary – Houses Divided_

 _fin_

* * *

 _ **AN1:**_ _Heya! This is it; the first year is finally finished. For those who want more adventure or tension-heavy plot, be at ease; the next year will have plenty of that. Just to give you a short heads-up of what to expect: I will not dilly-dally too much, and we will be returning to Hogwarts fairly soon. In the meantime, Madame Greengrass (Daphne's grandmother and the head of her family, not to be confused with her mother), who (as you might have picked up) does not approve of Harry one bit, makes a short appearance and so do the Lestranges. Bellatrix has been a challenge to write, I don't mind admitting. That is mostly because, like Draco, she does not have any character whatsoever in the books; she's as violent and obsessed as Draco is mean and antagonistic. Still, I think you'll find my take on her mirrors these attributes in some way or another. On the other hand, I've had lots of fun actually imagining what Bellatrix' children would have been like (with her not in Azkaban and completely demented, obviously). The siblings will, I think, be rather well-received, though I don't want to foreshadow too much right now._

 _ **AN2:**_ _I'll be adding this note again because I know this is something that a lot of you are rather passionate about. There will be no harem or anything like it. I know this chapter gives the impression that every female seems to have a thing for Harry. That is not the case. Hermione has, so far, not shown any tendency to go down that route. Neither has Tracey. Amy, one of Lestrange's children, is not exactly ladylike. Now, Daphne is a bit of a special case, but I think I've made it fairly obvious by now that she and Harry share a Past that justifies the capital letter. She's dependent on him, she craves his attention, sure, but despite her playfulness, she hasn't actually expressed any genuine romantic love so far (not that most teenagers that age would be able to, anyway). Astoria, too, shares her family's past with Harry, though her affection is really totally innocent and rather along the lines of admiration and wanting to compete with her sister. Also, without spoiler, Tori will probably remain a secondary character, seeing as the number of friends Harry has at Hogwarts is already taxing my ability to do them all justice. And lastly, Aenor has proven to be extremely ruthless, cunning and calculating even if she seems to have opened up to Harry a lot._

 _Now that we have gotten that out of the way, I do_ _ **NOT**_ _want to allude that Harry will not end up with one of them. Because he will. Which one, well, I doubt you'll get it right at this point in time. But you sure are welcome to guess. Bragging rights for whoever gets it right about a hundred chapters in advance! If someone should actually guesses right_ _and_ _also predict correctly how it'll happen, I'll write a minor character in his (or her) honour that'll probably die a horrible death._


	26. VoD: Summer memories

Black Luminary

Book 2: A Veil of Death

* * *

 **Summer memories**

The unbearable heat. The putrid smell of brimstone. Every breath he took felt as if his lungs would melt from within, while swirling clouds of biting ash blinded his vision, seared his skin.

'Promise me, Harry!' the man shouted pleadingly, his usually cold grey eyes burning with desperation. 'I need your promise!'

A supporting beam cracked with a deafening crash as the left wing of the manor succumbed to the fire. 'Take them!' the man cried over the thunderous roar, wand in his hand, a nasty cut under his left eye. 'But promise me!'

Something exploded. The images grew hazy. Then, suddenly, there was the voice of a girl. 'You promise you won't...?'

The fire didn't seem as fierce now, the air was almost cool. 'I promise.' Careless, naïve words of a boy, that-while spoken in truth-would now have to be upheld for all time to come.

 _ _~BLVoD~_ _

Harry slowly opened his eyes, looking at his bright and tidy room, a complicated expression on his face. He could still smell the ash and desperation thick in the air; a good memory, he decided, had its downsides. Sighing, he got up and grabbed his wand, pointing it groggily to air out the bedclothes. Looking around, he briefly regarded his own reflexion in the mirror; he looked as if he hadn't slept in a while, which was a bit odd since he'd done practically nothing but read and sleep since he'd come back home, much to the growing annoyance of his aunt.

Frowning a bit, he dressed in the clothes Cranky had laid out for him and descended the prominent set of stairs.

Bellatrix was already awake, sitting at the table in the kitchen, shrouded in the familiar atmosphere of a mildly suppressed case of bipolar disorder. 'Serves them right! These wretched traitors will get what's coming to them one of these days,' she growled menacingly at the paper in her hand. 'Oh, good morning, Harry!' Her expression changed at the speed of light to a bright smile.

'Morning,' Harry replied curtly, leaving the 'what's so good about it' part unsaid. He really detested mornings.

'Sleeping in, I see,' Bellatrix continued as if unaware that he hated long talks when he got up.

'How late is it?'

'Half past eleven. Have any plans for the day?'

'Not really,' Harry admitted. 'Reading, I guess?'

'Dull, dull, dull, Harry. Come on, let's do something fun!' Her eyes widened dangerously.

'And what would that be?' he asked warily.

'Remember that cleaver I got you?' she asked with an excited smirk.

'We are _not_ going to hunt Griffins!' he said decidedly.

'And why ever not?' she asked, crossing her arms and pouting like a disappointed child. 'I assure you; it's genuine! It even has an enchantment so that the beasts can't fly if you strike them once.'

'No,' he said strongly.

'Come on! I finally get to see my favourite nephew again, but you only want to spend time in your precious library.' She blinked a few times, her prominent eyes scanning the room as if on the lookout for something fun to do. 'Can we at least play a bit in the duelling room?' she asked eventually, obviously willing to settle for a compromise.

'Fine,' Harry agreed. 'But nothing weird please!'

'When did I ever do anything weird?! Shocking accusation!' she said, flailing her arms dramatically.

He just looked at her. 'Remember that one time you had me fight that giant spider with a knife and my wand, back when I was eight?' he asked, dead-pan.

'But it was perfectly safe!' she said, looking hurt again. 'I told you I had the antivenom on hand.'

Harry rolled his eyes, choosing not to comment that the mandibles of the spider had been as thick as his arms. 'Or when you insisted I had to be desensitised to blood and made me swim throu-'

'Water under the bridge,' she said, cackling at the memory. 'And you did it, didn't you? And you're not afraid of blood anymore, are you?'

'Well, I suppose that's true.' He refrained from saying that he now harboured an intense dislike for the _taste_ of blood instead.

'See? Your Auntie Bella knows best! I have just the thing in mind...'

Harry sighed. Why did only his grandfather understand that quiet and relaxed vacations in the library _were_ his idea of fun?

Blowing on the steam that rose from the cup of tea in his hand, he looked out of the window, ignoring the malfeasant stream of expletives his aunt directed at the Prophet.

'Anything interesting in there?' Harry asked after a bit of time, leaning back in his chair.

'Ridiculous, more like. Ministry lost two of their employees.'

'Lost? How can one lose personnel?'

'Woeful incompetence,' she said loftily. 'Arrogant upstarts, the lot of them. The whole Ministry is riddled with filth and parvenus.'

'And traitors,' Harry added absent-mindedly.

'And traitors living on borrowed time,' his aunt corrected him with an approving nod.

They fell silent. Eventually, Harry cast his gaze out of the window. 'Are you expecting a letter?' he asked, furrowing his brow as he observed the little speck in the sky that seemed to be heading their way.

'No,' she said, looking at the approaching bird shrewdly. 'But it does seem to be heading straight this way, doesn't it? Little Miss Greengrass, perhaps?'

'No, I've gotten a letter from her only yesterday...'

Harry walked to the window and opened it cumbersomely. To their surprise, it wasn't an owl at all. Crowing importantly and showing off his darkly shimmering and impressive plumage, a giant northern raven circled the kitchen twice, his mighty wings clipping a few glasses that crashed onto the floor, which caused the animal to crow even more fiercely, as if to announce its inevitable victory over the household. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes dangerously.

'Have you ever seen one of those?' Harry asked dumbfounded.

'Well, there are a few held captive in London, but wild ones? I'm not sure and certainly none that ridiculously large.' She reached for the small capsule the bird had strapped to his leg, but the animal crowed even louder, picking at her hand with his black and sharp-looking beak. 'Stupid birdbrain,' cursed Bellatrix hotly, quickly retracting her bleeding hand. 'If it picks at you, too, I say we put it out of its misery!'

Harry slowly reached for the capsule. The raven regarded him imperiously, widening his wings, gazing into his eyes with a soulful look. 'It seems rather intelligent, I think,' said Harry in a low voice.

'Intelligent?' Bellatrix shrieked. 'No wonder those nasty critters have nearly been eradicated, I say.'

The raven crowed at her again, pointing his sharp beak at Bellatrix and moving his head jerkily, his eyes never leaving the woman with curly hair as dark as, ironically, a crow. Ruffling his feathers again, it slowly stuck out his foot with the message to Harry.

Cautiously, Harry tried to take it, making it a point to keep his fingers from the apparently not to be underestimated claws or beak. The raven, however, jumped from his perch and made rounds through the kitchen again (and smashing a few more things out of spite, Harry suspected) before finally settling himself rather comfortably and surprisingly gently on Harry's shoulder, allowing him to take the message without any problems.

'You're not so bad, are you?' said Harry eventually, caressing his beautiful coat.

The bird crowed, softer this time, and rubbed its head against Harry's hand.

'Degenerated, plague-ridden chicken,' muttered Bellatrix under her breath. 'Get stuffed!'

Harry curiously unfolded the bit of parchment.

' _Harry,_

 _The summer's been pretty damn awful so far, and I need to leave for the mainland in a few days._

 _Do you think it's possible that we hold your little Occlumency test this week? If you think you need more time, tell me so._

 _In any case, write back as soon as possible, and don't you dare bully my beautiful Bambi!_

 _Aenor_ '

'She's named you Bambi?' Harry asked the raven, laughing out loudly. The bird regarded him coolly, clicking its beak in a way that suggested that it refrained from taking offence as a personal favour.

'That's not exactly the name I had in mind,' commented Bellatrix scathingly.

'What would you have picked?'

'Pillow Padding,' she replied with a smirk.

' _P.S.: In case you're wondering; my lovely little raven once killed a full-grown wild doe. My tip: don't annoy him._ '

'That's more like it,' said Harry with a smirk.

'Who is it from?' Bellatrix asked, pointing her wand at her still-bleeding finger.

'Oh, I don't believe you've met. My defence teacher at Hogwarts.'

'Wasn't she the one you danced with all night?' she asked, looking mildly surprised.

'Er, yes, her. She'll be coming over for a day. Some sort of Occlumency test or something.'

'She's keyed into the wards?' Bellatrix continued to question, raising an eyebrow.

'The outer ones for this house, yes.'

'Interesting. Occlumency, huh? But that sounds so boring, too! No wonder you keep in touch.'

'I rather think her tests would be right up your alley,' said Harry with a wry grin.

'Anyway, even if you want to play with your little friend, I'll still hold you to that promise from earlier,' she said, her tone brooking no protest. 'I want you to show me that you can handle yourself, in case the vermin try anything again.'

 _ _~BLVoD~_ _

First, Harry stared. Then, he blinked and decided to repeat himself, just in case he was seeing things. 'Are those real people?' he asked, his voice subtly higher than usual.

Bellatrix smirked. 'Does it matter? But no. It's a complicated bit of enchantment that makes the dummies look and behave just like real people. They're good, though, right? Very life-like. Cost a fortune, too.'

And Harry couldn't help but frown. Thirty feet in front of him, chained to the wall, held in cages, pleading for help, was a variety of _very_ human-looking things, clad in rags, sobbing and crying for their loved ones. Harry shot a brief look towards his aunt. He was pretty sure that she wouldn't just lie to him, but this was a bit too much... Dropping his grip on what Daphne had dubbed 'the whole colour situation', he inspected the figures again – and finally dared to breathe. They were indeed magical constructs, though the specific enchantments were completely alien to him.

'What are they?' he asked baffled, and, even if he was loath to admit it, at least as impressed as he was creeped-out.

'Oh, they're not from around here. A friend of mine has some rather distasteful hobbies, so he...compromises. These are-how does he put it-"speciality goods to accommodate his refined taste".'

'Don't tell me...' Harry asked, looking disgusted.

'Apparently,' Bellatrix replied off-handedly. 'He says they have full functionality, too.'

'Urgh,' commented Harry over the wailing of the dolls. 'You know some sickening people.'

'Don't be squeamish, now, it's not like _I_ make use of them. There's at least one perk to having a husband.'

'Can we get on with it, please?' asked Harry, getting the overwhelming sense that it had been a mistake to indulge his aunt.

'What would you do in a life or death situation in which you needed to overwhelm a superior number of enemy wizards in pursuit of you and your lover?' she demanded suddenly, her voice harsh.

He looked at her, his expression puzzled. 'Stun them and break their wands?'

The answer did not seem to please her. 'You stun your current pursuer, summon his wand, and break it with a curse. Sadly, since you've taken your time to cast three spells to deal with one lone opponent, two others are on to you now.'

' _Cutting Curse_ ,' said Harry, his brow furrowed.

'Naïve, messy and inconclusive! One of them manages to reanimate the one you stunned. The other sustains heavy wounds but is still somewhat conscious,' she continued her scenario mercilessly.

'Wide area _Blasting Curse_ aimed not at the people but the floor to use the debris as shrapnel.'

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, looking grudgingly impressed. 'Can you actually do that?'

Harry smiled guiltily in return, which only seemed to darken his aunt's mood.

'For the sake of the experiment, let's say you can. You get the one who's still standing and with a wand. The debris also hits your girlfriend, and she's bleeding profusely.'

'I...' Harry hesitated.

'Faster!' Bellatrix shouted angrily. 'She's lost half a litre of blood by now.'

'I cast a wide area _Blinding Hex_ and stop her bleeding myself.'

She nodded, narrowing her eyes. 'Can you do _that_ for real, at least?'

'Yes,' he said, somewhat hurt by her implied accusation that he was useless in a fight. 'I can do both.'

'Fine. You stop her bleeding, but you have bad luck; the one you disarmed and who's been reanimated is an ex-Auror. With a bit of wandless magic, he summons his partner's wand and hits you and your sweetheart both with a _Soundblast Curse_ that instantly defeats you, as you're currently preoccupied helping your woman. You're being shackled and disarmed. Your girlfriend, meanwhile, is raped right in front of you. Then, you are forced to watch them torture her the old-fashioned way until-finally-she breaks, begging for the mercy of death. They have their fun with her for a few more hours before granting her wish by blasting her mind to smithereens. They leave you shackled, bound, lost and hidden away in a cave without exit or food with only the corpse of the love of your life as company, where you curse the very short rest of your miserable existence due to your lack of power and determination. The end.'

Harry stared at her accusingly, feeling somewhat cheated. 'Let's start over!'

'This is no game!' she spat hotly. 'It might not be today and it might not be tomorrow, but, eventually, you'll have to face your opponents in earnest, and that means no more games, Harry James Black!'

'Fine,' he said snappishly. _It's not like I'm useless!_

'We're going to test a few curses and see which one you like best and feel the most connected with, and we won't stop until you feel like you've found something you can work with. Then, we'll train. Let's start with an old favourite of mine: the _Blood-Boiling Curse_ ,' she said, levelling her wand at one of the female-looking human dolls, an expectant smirk on her lips.

 _ _~BLVoD~_ _

'I hate your infamous weather,' said Aenor by way of greeting, pointing her wand at her drenched clothes to dry them.

'Hello,' Harry said with a smirk, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

'Yes, yes, hello,' she said, rolling her eyes.

'Not having a good summer?'

'The word "good" seems hardly applicable. It's been a nightmare!'

'How bad could it really have been?' he asked reasonably.

'Well, bad enough that someone's tried to kill me! Does that answer your precocious question?'

Harry shut his mouth, looking at her more closely. She looked unaccustomedly...tense, as if a serious attempt on her life was an inconvenience that merely served to really piss her off. 'What happened?'

'I don't know,' she admitted, handing him her jacket. 'I was at home late at night, and then suddenly all of my wards flared up at once. I grabbed my wand, jumped down the stairs and then... Well, there was something, someone, but they were already fleeing when I lit the lights.'

'Any chance of it being a malfunction of the wards or a mistake? Attempted burglary?'

She looked at him disbelievingly. 'Harry, I suspect most professional burglars would rather go to Azkaban than try their hands at my wards. And someone actually managed to _break them_ in one go!'

'Well, that's unsettling,' he said earnestly.

'Tell me about it,' she said with a scoff. 'What about you? You look a little pale. Are you ill?'

'What? Oh, no!' he responded quickly, shaking his head. 'Just a little worn-out. My aunt is watching over me this summer, and she can be a handful at times.'

'She making you do all the chores or what?' Aenor asked with a grin.

'Not exactly. She wants to go hunt merfolk or decapitate griffins with a sword,' he said poker-faced, causing Aenor to laugh wildly. 'But mostly, she insists that I train with her at least once a day.'

'She any good?' Aenor asked inquisitively.

'Very,' admitted Harry, rubbing his shin. 'And she doesn't know how to hold back.'

'Well, then what is there to complain about? Be glad she makes herself available for your convenience.'

Harry shrugged, motioning for her to lead the way towards the sitting room.

'By the way, do you mind if I crash for the night? It'll take ages to set up all the wards again, and I need to leave Britain for a few weeks, so I intend to do that later. At least here I can feel safe.' She softly brushed her hand against the wall, jerking it back as if hit by an electrical current. 'Circe, your ancestors practically soaked the place in wards.'

'True,' Harry replied proudly. 'It would take even a full Auror corps at least a few days to strip down all the enchantments. You can stay if you want; we have a few free rooms to spare.'

Leading her through the house, Harry dejectedly recalculated the odds of having a nice and quiet summer from 'unlikely' to 'you wish'.

 _ _~BLVoD~_ _

Later that evening, Harry found himself sitting stiffly at the big, oaken dinner table, his eyes firmly directed at some empty point in front of him, acutely aware just how true his prediction had been. He'd suffered through two houses banding together to make his life at Hogwarts a living hell; he had managed to survive four of Tori's little pretend-marriages (and he had learnt the hard way never to say 'no' during the ceremony ever again); Merlin, he'd even survived his aunt's demonstrations of the Unforgivables. But _this_ was a true nightmare that was bound to haunt him for quite some time. This was the single worst dinner, if not social event altogether, he'd ever had to sit through, and he even counted the endless banquets he had had to attend as a Potter, back when he'd been a pitiful pawn.

As slowly as he dared, he cut the steak and brought the alluringly flavoursome and extremely tender piece of meat to his mouth, all the while politely staring at nothing in particular, his head held high and straight. At least the food was good.

'Tell me, Miss Rose: is your family pure-blood? I can't say I've ever heard of them. Obviously, it couldn't have been your money or connections that managed to impress Arcturus and Harry,' said Bellatrix delicately, her voice neither exactly polite nor rude, managing to keep a fine 'balance' Harry could only identify as condescending.

'I'm proud to say that I can look back at a rich tradition of wizards and witches in our line, so yes; we are pure-blood. But I must say I _am_ impressed! Usually, you Brits are quite content living on your little isle and ignoring the rest of the world, save for your old colonies that have long since managed to eclipse you. I'm _so_ glad you consider yourself an expert on continental families of note.'

Yes, the filet mignon was really good, Harry thought with all his might. He'd have to give Cranky his compliments later.

'Oh!' said Bellatrix, trying hard not to laugh. 'I hope I did not _offend_ you, little Missy. It is quite alright to be proud of what little proven ancestry you have.'

The chard was excellent as well, Harry duly noted to himself.

'Offend? Why, I'm never offended, Mrs Lestrange,' Aenor insisted, smiling beatifically. 'Please do not worry; I have long since learned not to lose sleep over the prattling of politically irrelevant side branches of _truly_ respectable families.'

 _Maybe I should order a glass of wine? I doubt Bellatrix is paying enough attention to mind me._

'Speaking of irrelevant, I've heard rumours. Knowing very well how blown out of proportions such talk usually is, it is still rather perplexing that a witch of your probably rather average capabilities decided to waste away her youth teaching. I mean, shouldn't you have left that to someone who actually has some experience with, well, anything?'

'Cranky?' Harry croaked, his voice raspy. 'A bottle of our finest Pinot Noir, please.' The elf nodded compassionately and disappeared silently to fetch the bottle and some glasses.

Aenor regarded her vis-à-vis calmly. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Lestrange. But it was, in fact, Arcturus Black who helped secure that position for me. Surely, seeing as you're related, this cannot be news to you, can it?'

Harry nodded gratefully towards his favourite elf and proceeded to pour himself a rather generous measure of his grandfather's finest.

Bellatrix smiled, waving the jab aside like an irksome fly. 'I did not question how you got the job. Leaving your doubtful qualifications aside, I was merely speculating about your motivation.'

Harry tasted the wine with a rather enthusiastic swig and smiled, leaning back and relaxing a bit.

Aenor grinned back at her counterpart, reaching for an empty glass and the bottle of wine. 'I'm so glad that you wish to impart the _considerable_ experience you've managed to gather in your long and fulfilled life so far. Is it true that your children will be attending Hogwarts, starting this year?' She closed her eyes and took a sip, her expression museful. After a few seconds, she nodded approvingly and positioned the bottle just a bit out of Harry's reach, who gave her a defiant glare that she pointedly ignored. 'I mean, it must be a soothing thought that, finally, your life has come to fruition. Now, you only need to lie back and relax as everything play out.'

'How droll,' replied Bellatrix with a smirk. 'Well, I'll be glad to recommend your class to my delightful little children. I'm sure they'll be paying a special kind of attention to you. But speaking of children, have you considered marriage at all, Miss Rose? I mean, while you're still young for now, not many families of good rapport will consider granting you a social haven by marriage if you protract the matter for much longer. Though maybe you still have a chance if you consider a somewhat different approach; I'm sure Nott senior wouldn't mind having you as his new plaything. I've heard his latest wife recently passed away.'

Harry dearly wished he hadn't started off so zealously with his drink. Now, his glass was empty, and it seemed as if both witches had just started warming up. Subtly pointing his wand under the table, he cast a very weak summoning charm, making the bottle creep across the table almost imperceptibly slowly.

'Ah,' said Aenor with a suspiciously mean smile, 'it is true; we can't all be as lucky as you with our husbands, Mrs Lestrange. It truly does my heart good to see such happy couples even after many, many years of politically forced marriage. I really respect you as a woman, knowing that you stand by your husband despite his, you know, appearance.' Her hand shot out and grabbed the moving bottle, not even bothering to look at Harry. She refilled her own glass instead of granting Harry the mercy of inebriation, placing the beverage directly in front of her afterwards.

Harry gaped longingly at his chosen deliverer from suffering, but the fine drink stayed traitorously near his guest, defying his silent prayers and pleas. With a look of determination, he raised his wand under the table again...

'No magic during mealtimes, Harry James Black!' snapped his aunt parenthetically, making Harry flinch as both witches turned their grim attention towards him for a second. 'Well, I can see how you are so focused on superficialities. Maybe we have uncovered your secret motivation to teach at Hogwarts at long last; if you enjoy the slavering looks of underage wizards, I suppose there's hardly any finer institution that allows you to dress tawdrily to satisfy your exhibitionist desires.'

Harry sent a pleading look towards his elf, silently begging for help. Cranky grinned and snapped his fingers. Harry, his eyes widening, reached for his cup that had originally held pumpkin juice, pleasantly surprised that it now held Butterbeer with just a hint of Firewhiskey. It wasn't quite the smooth wine that blended perfectly with the tender and lean meat, but you had to start somewhere.

'Charming,' said Aenor placidly. 'Me, personally, I find my position at Hogwarts to be a bearable compromise between-admittedly-dull teaching and engaging and fascinating studies. But I can see how you would jump to your conclusions about exciting sexual adventures, Mrs Lestrange. It's the nature of most humans to crave what we do not have, isn't it?'

Harry regarded his cup with some annoyance. The damn thing was clearly much too small. How could one manage to divert one's attention from the feral conversation taking place, when after a few polite sips the stupid thing was already half-empty again?

Bellatrix, meanwhile, laughed a genuine laugh of entertainment. 'Your loving concern is touching, if misplaced, Miss Rose. But you have my full confidence,' she said, winking at the younger witch. 'Just don't get caught. Apropos getting caught,' she continued light-heartedly, ignoring the nasty glare Aenor sent her way at her mention of those words, 'what are your plans for the coming Yule festivities? I hope you enjoyed our ball last year? I've heard you danced until you were positively _beaten_ that night.'

Harry wasn't even feigning attention anymore. His wand in his sleeve, he concentrated with all his might on the cup in front of him, remembering the charm Flitwick had quizzed him on during his exam. He was rewarded with an almost invisible orange glow around his cup. Now all he needed was a drinking partner...

Mercifully, even the Dinner of Disaster eventually ended, though neither Bellatrix nor Aenor seemed in any particular rush to bring an end to the most thinly veiled verbal spat of recent wizarding history. Things got a little heated in between, with both witches politely offering to help demonstrate the proper casting of various hexes, while aiming at each other purely for demonstration purposes. But when they finally settled for a tentative armistice due to the advanced hour, they were quite astonished to realise that Harry was happily drowsing in his seat, a laughably childish, varicoloured party hat on his head and his snoozing house-elf lying curled up under his chair.

 _ _~BLVoD~_ _

The next day began, as one might have expected, with the wigging of the century.

'...completely unbecoming of the future lord of the Blacks! Ignominious! Worse, raffish even! What were you _thinking_?!' bellowed Bellatrix for what seemed to be the seventeenth time. Harry just stood there, trying not to scowl as his aunt's shrill and, worst of all, loud voice drilled into his head with the unnerving persistence of a mosquito. Harry also graciously refrained from remarking that slaughtering populations of merfolk was probably just as unbecoming of a future lord.

'…base behaviour totally unworthy of the Blacks. Such crassness!'

'Look, Auntie, I'm sorry! Can we please forget about this?' Harry asked in a polite voice, hoping to make the loud voice stop. It hurt his head.

'Oh, no, we don't! You're still fourteen. Fourteen!' she cried again for emphasis.

'How about this, then,' Harry snapped suddenly, the latent headache finally managing to break his calm. 'You refrain from telling Arcturus about this sorry episode, and I won't mention how you hassled and verbally abused _my guest_ for the entire dinner.'

She took a step back, her eyes widening. 'What? I never...' Clearing her throat, she seemed to calm down remarkably fast, regarding him with a somewhat bemused expression. 'Well, I can see that maybe I've blown this little lecture a bit out of proportion. Just, you know, don't do it again. Or at least have the common decency to do so quietly in a lonely corner of the common room or in some broom closet where nobody will see you - just like everybody else.'

Harry gawked at her, arching an eyebrow.

'What?' Bellatrix said with a grin. 'You think you're the first to get drunk while underage? When I was your age, I'd already won two illegal honour duels in Hogsmeade and could drink some patrons of the Hog's Head under the table!' she boasted pridefully. 'But that doesn't mean _my parents_ knew about that bit. Use your common sense, oh nephew of mine!'

Harry laughed a bit. 'Okay. Message received and understood.'

'Good. How's your head?'

'Could be worse, I guess.'

'Great. Meet me in the duelling chambers in fifteen minutes. Nothing better than a bit of adrenaline to purge the stuff out of your blood, trust me. And I promise I'll make it _extra thrilling_ this time.'

'Oh,' he said with a sense of trepidation. 'Fantastic.'

 _ _~BLVoD~_ _

Aenor silently watched Bellatrix push Harry around in the training area. The old hag was pretty good, she had to admit. Not quite in her league, and not as good as Harry might eventually become, but dangerous enough to give even her pause.

She watched with narrowed eyes as Bellatrix overwhelmed Harry's impressive defence with nothing more or less than undiluted power. Even though her movements were tranquil and had the air of a proficient and very experienced duellist, her spells were always completely tuned towards all-out attack. Aenor had little doubt that Bellatrix _could_ use advanced defensive magic; it was just that she chose not to.

'Move, Harry!' Bellatrix shouted. 'Your mind needs to be calm, your feet quick, your aim true and your heart cold. Nothing else matters. Now do it in earnest! _Try_ to harm me, at least!'

Aenor nodded absent-mindedly, watching Harry circle his aunt. Lestrange, however, already tired of waiting for the charge that was unlikely to ever come, snarled and twirled her wand twice. A stream of wild and fierce red _Bludgeoning Curses_ erupted from her wand, all aimed directly at Harry's chest. The boy did-she had to admire it-not even twitch when he recognised the swirl of hexes that was more than enough to seriously threaten his life. Bringing his wand down in a grand arc, a thick layer of blue magic sprang to life in front of him. The _Bludgers_ fizzled harmlessly and evaporated.

'No more hiding,' screamed Bellatrix, wrought-up. The air around her wand became distorted, and with the dull sound of a booming bass, Harry's shield suddenly began to rapidly heat up and change colour from deep blue to bright orange, causing the boy to look at it in horror. Not a second later, the tempered layer of protective magic exploded with enough force to rattle the mansion, catapulting Harry across the room until he hit the wall with a loud thump.

Aenor silently and grudgingly revised her opinion of the loathsome witch upwards.

'Strike at me!' the Lestrange woman commanded the boy, who had a few stray drops of blood running down the side of his head. 'You cannot hope to defeat anyone if you only cower behind your protection. Defences are meant to be overcome! We won't leave this room until you make some kind of effort!'

Harry snarled, standing up in a way that suggested some kind of problem with his left foot, though a more inexperienced duellist would probably not have noticed. Aenor admired his grit, though she, too, was becoming a bit concerned with his insistence to not use offensive magic.

He raised his wand and sent a few well-aimed _Reductor Curses_ his aunt's way. The spells' aim was true but...

'Is that it?' Bellatrix laughed derisively, batting the incoming spells into the wall with her bare backhand, causing Aenor to frown imperceptibly. 'The _Reductor Curse_ , my ickle little nephew? What next, _Expelliarmus?_ I want you to try and hurt me, not make me scream with laughter!' She cackled again, her voice shrill and haughty.

Aenor's eyes darted to the place where the witch had directed the curses to. True enough, Harry's offensive spells weren't anything special, but still, there were some very noticeable cracks in the stone, definitely enough to seriously injure any witch or wizard.

Bellatrix straightened her pose, looking at her nephew with an expression that was difficult to read. 'You're forcing my hand here, Harry.'

'I'm trying,' the boy shouted back. 'You can't honestly expect me you to beat you!'

'No,' she said in a low voice. 'But I expect you to try! Now reap what you have sowed!' she shouted unexpectedly, pointing her wand at his feet. ' _Confringo!'_

The room exploded with an earsplitting, thunderous roar, chips of marble shooting all over the place as deadly projectiles, causing Aenor to raise her own wand for once. Hot winds howled, the floor creaked – and then it was over just as quickly as it had begun. She looked at the centre of the detonation with a certain amount of concern. Harry had been right, that much was clear; Bellatrix Lestrange really _did not know_ how to hold back. An area of at least 250 square feet of marble was completely demolished, the epicentre featured an impressive crater of at least three feet. Fragments of marble had pierced nearly every wall.

Bellatrix still stood in her spot, wand at her side, her gaze focused on the big cloud of smoke behind and around the dent in the floor.

'Don't you think you overdid it a little, Mrs Lestrange?' asked Aenor, syphoning the dust from her clothes.

'The name of Black is not for show! If he couldn't survive something like this, he'd have never made it this far!' she said firmly, though Aenor noted that she too was looking for any sign of Harry in the debris.

Slowly, the smoke cleared somewhat. Aenor's chest seized up. Just a bit behind the point of impact, hidden under several larger chunks of completely ruined slabs of marble, several shreds of dark velvet were just barely recognisable under the debris – and the blood.

'Say,' she heard herself say. 'What's Arcturus going to do to you when he finds out you killed his grandson?'

'Silence!' hissed Bellatrix, her eyes wide. They slowly approached, wands at the ready. Now that the dust had settled, it was becoming apparent that parts of the ceiling had come crashing down, too. Most unluckily, Aenor noted with a groan, the ceiling had crashed precisely into Harry's direct escape route.

They silently advanced, surveying the carnage. Deep cracks in the floor and the collapsing ceiling must have made a particularly dangerous and treacherous obstacle course, Aenor imagined with a sinking feeling.

'There!' she said suddenly, pointing her wand. Underneath the biggest loose slab, not far from the torn shreds of the robe, something fleshy was just visible. Aenor flicked her wand and moaned with regret. 'You demented bitch! It's a fucking human arm!' she snarled, pointing at the mangled bit of flesh her spell had identified as the remains of a human corpse.

Bellatrix' eyes widened further, if even possible. 'No,' she whispered. 'No! No, no, no, no...' She raised her wand and, gently, lifted the wreckage from what shouldn't be the corpse of her nephew. 'Harry,' the woman whimpered. 'Oh, my poor little Harry...!' She crouched down, crawling towards the bloody mess on all fours.

Aenor, looking at the scene, grimaced. It was bad. She doubted even Asclepios himself could have saved the boy; the left side of his body was completely crushed, his face unrecognisable. The right leg was broken in at least three places, the knee completely shattered by a particularly brutal-looking hit of a hundredweight floor plate of exquisite Carrara-Marble. The hand was outstretched heavenwards in a wretched, heart-rending and wordless last plea for help. It hadn't done him any good.

The wand was nowhere in sight, Aenor noted over the wailing of the other woman, and while it was quite possible that the little bit of wood had been completely pulverised by the weight, this observation still had her on edge and gave her something to focus on. Without any expression on her face that betrayed her racing thoughts, she twirled her wand again, inspecting the corpse in even greater detail.

Yet no matter how hard she looked with either naked eye or spell, not a single splinter of wood was to be found anywhere.

Suspiciously, she flicked her wand forcefully at the direction of the corpse a third time. For a second, the air shimmered brightly, and she raised an eyebrow, applying even more force and pressure until, finally, the enchantment broke. The stature of the person in front of them changed into that of a mature, plain-featured woman clad in rags. She was still dead, of course, but unless Harry had been running some sort of hilarious bluff his entire life...

'WHAT DID YOU DO?' shrieked Bellatrix, enraged.

'Undo his charms. He's gone,' Aenor said with amusement. 'And we've been had. Who is this, incidentally?'

Bellatrix frowned, leaning over the bloody remains. After a while, she sighed, relieved. 'A puppet. I brought a few of them with me for training purposes. I hadn't even realised he'd snatched one.' Lestrange blinked a few times, then she began to laugh hysterically. 'I also didn't realise it was charmed. I'm glad he's not completely helpless.'

'Neither did I,' admitted Aenor reluctantly. 'But I've only ever seen him let go of his wand once. And it's not here.'

'I knew there was something I'd forgotten,' said a voice not far behind them. Harry calmly walked over the ruins of the room and approached the gaping witches. 'Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking,' he said after a while, when they both just stared at him in silence.

'What about your leg?' inquired Aenor. Indeed, her greatest worry had been that the injury had somehow hindered his escape earlier.

'Fixed it already.' Looking at his still staring aunt, he clicked his tongue. 'Now look at this mess, was it really necessary to go _that_ far? You bloody nearly got me with that!'

Bellatrix seemed to inflate a bit under his scolding voice. But then, she rushed forward and embraced her nephew with so much force that Harry yelped in pain. 'I'm sorry, Harry! I'm so sorry! You know I never would... I'd never... But I'm so worried, and you're still so weak, and I just couldn't help it!'

Harry rolled his eyes at her mention of him being weak but reciprocated the embrace. 'I know,' he said kindly. 'I promise I'll take it a bit more seriously, alright?'

Bellatrix nodded, squeezing his shoulder and beaming at him. 'You did good, hiding your wounds,' she said, patting his chest a bit forcefully.

Harry's expression didn't change, but his eye seemed to water a bit. 'Yes, well, okay. I admit you got me with the blast. I haven't cast a spell to end the duel because my arm hurts like hell, too, alright?'

Aenor watched the exchange with an amused expression. Harry had done reasonably well, better than could have been expected, certainly. Lestrange wasn't wrong in reprimanding him for his lacking offence but on the other hand... She looked down at the puppet again, her expression blank. She hadn't noticed the enchantment, _at all_. Her eyes flickered towards her young charge, and she forcefully suppressed the hunger that welled up in her. _Too soon,_ she thought.

 _ _~BLVoD~_ _

'So, let me get this straight,' said Bellatrix disbelievingly. 'You want to take my poor little nephew and have him partake in a, even by my standards, particularly dangerous test without any supervision whatsoever? And all that outside of our safe premises?'

'Precisely,' Aenor replied drily.

'Are you quite sane, Miss Rose?' Lestrange asked casually. 'The sole reason for my being here is that it was deemed a risk to let Harry alone at home despite the extensive security measures this house features. And you ask me to just let him go with you? Just like that?'

'There's nothing to fear,' said Aenor, rolling her eyes. _At least I didn't nearly kill my own nephew by accident, you crazy bitch._ 'He's as safe from other witches and wizards with me as he is with his grandfather.'

'That would imply that I place any kind of trust in you,' objected Bellatrix bluntly. 'Which I don't.'

Aenor shook her head in an irritated fashion. 'And what would you need as a guarantee?'

'You have nothing of equal value to Harry's life,' said Bellatrix categorically.

'Don't be so pig-headed, _Mrs_ Lestrange,' said Aenor, stressing the Mrs as sarcastically as humanly possible.

Both witches regarded each other coolly. 'As you wish,' said Bellatrix finally and stood up, to the slight surprise of the younger woman. She walked towards the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo Powder into the roaring fire. 'Cissy! Come over for a second, I need you to deal with this!'

Aenor looked in confusion from the expectant smile of Lestrange that seemed so confident in victory to the puzzled-looking woman who emerged from the fire.

The witch seemed to be a bit younger than Lestrange. Where Bellatrix was dark, the newcomer was fair; while Lestrange had a strong jaw and heavy-lidded eyes, the arrival had refined, unobtrusive features. 'What is it, Bella?' she asked, sparing Aenor nary a glance. 'Where's Harry?'

Their voices, too were, different; Lestrange's voice was, at any given time, thick with emotion, whereas this woman's speech was plummy and crisp. Still, Aenor thought they could be related, which would also explain why this new person was able to get through the hundreds of wards so easily.

'Resting. We need a Bonder,' declared Bellatrix simply.

'Wait a second. You want me to take an Unbreakable Vow?' clarified Aenor, alarmed.

Bellatrix scoffed dismissively. 'You think it'll take any less to entrust my nephew to you, if only for a day?'

That seemed to garner the other woman's attention at last. 'What's this about Harry, Bella?'

'Miss Rose here wants to take him out of the wards for some stupid test. I told her it wasn't possible, but she insisted. That's why you're here.'

'And what is this test, Miss Rose?' the newcomer asked, her eyes cold and piercing. It was fairly obvious that she was at least as protective of Harry as the rest of those connected to him that Aenor had already gotten to know.

'An...antiquated test for Occlumens. It used to be the standard test in my homeland for those wanting to delve into what lies beyond what we consider journeyman level, Mrs...?'

'Unimportant. How dangerous exactly?'

'Potentially? Fatal or worse,' Aenor said with a shrug. 'If he's adequately prepared, no harm will come to him.'

'Fatality rate?' the woman asked flatly.

'About two in five.'

'We're done,' her counterpart said decisively, turning around again. 'Absolutely not.'

'Any test of worth has some inherent element of danger,' Aenor said with a bit of anger. 'He needs this. He will not break through the limit he is approaching otherwise. At least, not within the next few years. He has notable talent, I'm sure I don't need to patronise you, but he needs to call upon it. He has the tendency to be complacent. He needs to be pushed.' She watched both witches exchange a glance. 'And I thought his family approved of his Occlumency studies. His grandfather did, in fact, personally task me to help him in his efforts. This is everything I can do for him from this point forward.'

'Can you step in if he's in danger of failing?' the blonde asked in a worried tone.

'The test itself is already a tightrope walk. Straying from the path of success is death itself.' Watching them exchange another look, she added, 'Look, I'm not trying to get him killed. I have, as a matter of fact, a vested interest in keeping him alive. But he needs this. You can't coddle him for the rest of his life. Harry is capable of great things, but only if you let him break through his limits every now and then.'

'I'm with her,' grumbled Bellatrix to Aenor's immediate surprise. 'I know Harry has it in him, but he tends to favour his academics too much. Knowledge won't help him if he lacks experience.'

The blond witch looked conflicted, her eyes wandering from Lestrange to the ceiling, seemingly seeking out Harry. 'Are you sure, Bella? I'm not certain this is wise... Is this Rose person even capable of keeping him safe from others?'

'She's...capable enough, I suppose,' Bellatrix said with a shrug.

The newcomer still looked extremely unconvinced, her whole face an expression of reluctance. But eventually, she nodded. 'Alright, take hold of each other's arms.'

Aenor sighed. Apparently, there was no getting out of this. With slight hesitance, she grabbed Lestrange's forearm.

'Will you, who we know as Miss Aenor Rose, watch over Harry Black for the course of this, your test and the appertaining journeys, and keep him from harm to the best of your capabilities?'

Aenor stared at the wand resting where her and Lestrange's hand interconnected. 'I will.'

'Will you, when necessary, do whatever you must to fight any danger to his life during the course of these days?'

'I will.'

'And will you swear to never betray the trust we place in you regarding his safety?'

Aenor looked up and stared into the blonde's light-blue eyes, waiting for her to limit the extent of the vow for the duration of the test, as she'd done previously. The woman stared back, her expression calculating and as unbending as steel. And right then, she knew for certain that there would be no such convenient limitation with this one.

'What's the matter, little Missy? Having second thoughts?' came Lestrange's jeering voice.

Clenching her jaw, she gripped the arm of the other woman as hard as possible. 'I will.'

Hot flames danced across her skin, binding her life to the promises she'd made. When she looked up, still a bit in disbelief of what those two witches had made her swear, the blonde was already on her way back to the fireplace. 'A pleasure to meet you formally, Miss Rose,' she said, not looking back. 'My name's Narcissa Malfoy. Keep Harry safe, will you? Not just for the vow.' She turned around and gazed into her eyes once again. 'He's something special.'

Aenor nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact. 'I will,' she repeated herself solemnly.

 _ _~BLVoD~_ _

'Aenor?'

'Hm?'

'Have you ever met my aunt before?' Harry asked, carefully observing her expression.

'We have never been introduced, I'm sorry to say,' she replied somewhat sarcastically.

 _She's not being completely truthful._ The inspiration was as alien, as strange, as unexpected as Harry inexplicably knew it to be true. She wasn't completely honest. Well, he didn't fault her for that, he wasn't either, after all. But how in Merlin's name did he know? Her expression was as calm, as unreadable as ever before.

'Have you seen her at the Black Ball?'

'Come,' she said, giving no answer. 'We have a time frame to adhere to.'

Harry frowned, but nevertheless took her outstretched hand. The instant their skin made contact, he felt himself getting yanked through space and time, twisted, compressed, until-finally-he could breathe again, his feet landing on something with a loud and dirty sounding splash.

'Urgh,' he commented volubly.

'Never travelled across nations per apparition? It's a bit rough, but you'll get used to it.'

'Where exactly is this?' Harry asked nervously, looking around. All he could see was a horizon worth of mud, sea birds, shells, small puddles of water and some more mud. That was all nothing in comparison to the overbearing _aroma_ of the sea, of course. He'd never quite smelled it so intensely in all his life.

Aenor pointed towards a small elevation where an ancient looking homestead of archaic construction methods was enthroned on a small patch of green grass. 'That's a warft, though you may know by its more common English name of "terp" - an artificial mound. We are currently near the European mainland in what is usually the North Sea.'

'What do you mean, what is usually the sea?' Harry asked, perplexed. A second later, he came up with the answer himself. 'Oh. The Wadden Sea?'

She rewarded his knowledge with a genuine smile. 'Correct. That right there is one of my places. I don't use it often, but it is fairly safe. The wards are nothing special in comparison to those of your family, but the location itself is rather secluded, and no living soul knows of its existence. Well, besides the two of us, now.'

'And where exactly is that?' Harry asked, looking around. He could see other small patches of land here and there, yet none big enough to give shelter. Some strange objects seemed to protrude from the larger bodies of water, giving the whole scene a very lonely and slightly eerie atmosphere.

'Not too far from the coast. This place does, in fact, not have a name anymore. A few hundred years ago, a terrible and great flood sunk whole parts of the coastline. What you see there, for example,' she pointed to the spiky object Harry had previously spotted, 'is the old church spire. The whole island was deserted, and, eventually, without the dykes and dams, the sea reclaimed everything the storm did not. Except for my little hideout.'

She started walking, and Harry hurriedly followed suit.

'Best be careful where you place your feet. Sometimes what looks like a mere puddle can be a metre deep or worse. Better only follow my steps. This place is dangerous, even at low tide.'

And Harry did just that. He would be the first to admit that he didn't have any great knowledge about the sea, but he had no qualm confessing that he...respected it, just for the fact of how indomitable and dangerous it was, to Muggles and wizards alike.

Aenor made many strange turns and often chose not to cross pools Harry would probably just have waded across, but, in the end, they finally made it. Aenor came to a halt just before the green patch of land in a sea of dirty brown, pointing her wand at him and then herself to clean their clothes.

'I've deactivated the wards so you can step in. It would be wise to hurry it up, though.'

And he did. The warft, Harry realised with some concern, only seemed to be a few metres above sea level. 'Isn't this dangerous during a storm surge?'

She grinned at him. 'It's the best thing ever! As long as you have strong nerves...'

Harry could just imagine the raging waves of the sea crashing against the precious little land; a house at sea, surrounded by nothing but the storming tide. He shivered involuntarily.

She walked towards the great oaken doors that were decorated with, presumably, blessings in a foreign language, though Harry also spotted a few runes here and there. 'How old is this building?'

She looked towards him, her expression amused. 'Ah, I see you've studied your futhark. Well, paganism held out a bit longer out here. Especially ancient customs, superstitions and the like. It doesn't hurt that a few of them are actually true, too. This one,' she pointed towards the set of runes directly above the door, 'roughly translates to "a peaceful welcome to all strangers".'

'That seems excessively friendly,' commented Harry with a grin.

'Magic aside, this is a dangerous place to live, Harry. Back when there was a settlement here, magic folk and Muggles used to help each other in times of need. Facing the dangers of the sea, a wizard might well need all the help he can get, on occasion.'

'Really?' Harry inquired curiously.

'Yes. They were fairly respected, too. They got livestock and food in exchange for medicine and blessings. Apparently, they also used to help keep some of the more malevolent denizens of the sea at bay.'

'Give and take, so to speak.'

'Of course. Every relation worth a grain of trust is of equal value to both partners, after all. Come!'

She tapped the heavy door with her wand, and it creaked and rattled and groaned until it finally, slowly, opened in their direction.

The insides, Harry soon found out, were a bit dusty and rustic, but not unpleasantly so. Most of the furniture seemed to be hand-carved and preserved with spells against rot or vermin. But every single piece was, as far as Harry could tell, a marvellous work of art. Aenor had to positively drag him from the grandfather clock, promising to show him everything later. 'You can have a look, I promise, Harry. But now, rest. I know you're still sore from your aunt's little stunt, and you'll need all the strength you have. We'll be holding our test during the night. I'll show you to your room for now. No house-elves, I'm sorry to say. You'll have to make do with what you find.'

She led him, not upstairs he noted with surprise, but through the big room with an enormous fireplace that seemed to function as both kitchen and living room. On the other side of the wall was a huge bed that was, like everything else, adorned with magnificent if kitschy carvings.

'Wood can be a hassle to acquire out here. The fireplace used to serve as a source of heat to make food, to warm the parlour, and, as you can see, the bedroom. In thankfully long bygone times, the whole family used to sleep in one room, but you can have this one for yourself, don't worry,' she said with a wink.

'How generous of you,' he replied sarcastically, trying to suppress a yawn.

'Get some sleep,' she said with a little smile. 'I'll wake you when it's time.'

Harry nodded and, without bothering to take off more than his robes, shirt and shoes, slipped under the blanket and was asleep within a few minutes.

 _ _~BLVoD~_ _

'Promise me!' the ghost of a voice demanded. 'Promise me you won't?' the other begged desperately. 'Promise...!'

Harry shot up, a thin film of sweat on his brow. The same dream again. Cursing softly, he let his head fall back onto the giant and fluffy pillow. It was so soft that his head was in danger of getting swallowed by the cushion. Calming his breathing, he strained his ears. A storm seemed to be arriving; the wind outside was a woeful howling interrupted by the occasional sound of a greater wave breaking, and he could just see it in his mind: the waves attacking the land relentlessly, wave after wave rolling in, trying to claim what should be theirs, clawing at the land, the sea foam angrily spraying out of spite.

As he'd done during the previous months to practice, Harry allowed his Occlumency to relax a little. The wards and preservation spells were as visible to him as his own hand, a thick green layer around the property and all the furniture. To his amusement, a few of the runes that decorated doors, windows, blinds or gables seemed to have a little magical life in them, too. Apparently, Aenor was right; some of those blessings seemed to be for real, even if their power seemed rather limited.

Speaking of his companion, Aenor was currently pacing in the other room, just outside of his door. But to his astonishment, she wasn't the most magical existence at the residence. The roof, specifically the room under it, positively _reeked_ of magic. Wards, Harry guessed, and something else, something foul. The protection was so extensive, so ludicrously complex, that Harry's vision, for the first time ever, seemed to slow down, as if his perception was overloaded by the tight web of enchantments and wards that hindered his vision.

Blinking and shaking his head, he had a look at the other rooms. All of them, Harry now felt for the first time, were deeply soaked with magic. No particular spell or ward aroused his suspicion, but he couldn't help but feel that this place had once been bursting with magic. Someone had done a good job of ridding the most obvious of traces, and-indeed-Harry could _see_ nothing, but the smell was there. It smelled a bit like Hogwarts, he thought for some strange reason.

Groaning, he got up and dressed again, making his way out of the room. Aenor was, as he'd previously seen, toing and froing between the fireplace and the stairs, clearly absorbed in thought. 'How late is it?' he asked in a low voice so as to not alert her.

Her head snapped in his direction, and he could see that she looked visibly tense. Tenser even than when he'd seen her just after the attempt on her life. _What the hell is going on here...?_

'Ah, you're awake. Good,' she said, though she didn't sound happy at all. 'Sit down.' She pointed towards an old wing chair, and she took a seat directly opposite him, mindlessly scratching her forearm.

'What is this place?' asked Harry, looking around for a second time.

'What do you mean?' she shot back with a small frown.

'It's...bursting with magic. Everything is. The floor, the ceiling, the land itself. Someone's tried to hide the traces...but it's not possible. It's like radiation,' he tried to explain.

Her eyebrows shot up, and she took a sip of what Harry easily identified as her favourite fruity liqueur. She looked incredibly nervous, and, to his astonishment, somewhat tipsy. That she was apparently drinking to soothe her nerves didn't help Harry one bit either.

'You're right. I suspect he...who removed the traces would be very pleased that you managed to find them still. But this is not the time for that talk. Listen to me, Harry, please.'

He looked at her, even more worried now. Only in correspondence by letter had she so far, truly, ever been really polite. In fact, her casual (though admittedly appropriate) arrogance was in Harry's opinion an integral part of her character. Seeing the aloof, sarcastic and ever-confident foreign prodigy before him so unnerved did not help his imagination of what was now to come.

'What's the matter?' he asked, fidgeting somewhat in his seat.

'We're about to conduct your test now. I need to give you some information beforehand. First off, do you know why Snape is such a great Occlumens?' she asked, momentarily stunning Harry into silence with this curveball of a question.

'He never drops it?' he guessed. 'Not that I know for certain, but his expression rarely even wavers.'

'Right on point,' she said with a fleeting little smile. 'He's allowed his Occlumency to seep into his very soul, his character. He's learned to shut down his emotions on such a level that it would probably take a highly traumatic experience to truly break through his control. Idle anger or contemptuousness may occasionally shine through, but they are still only the shadows of what lurks in his soul. That is why he is probably the most accomplished Occlumens at Hogwarts. Now, think of Dumbledore. What is your impression of him?'

'I don't know,' he said slowly, furrowing his brow. 'He doesn't seem as closed off as Snape for sure, but how can I know how effective his defence really is? I'm no Legilimens!'

'You don't need to be; you said everything I wanted to hear. The difference between the two is that Snape constantly fights his urges, he...suppresses them. But therein lie two weaknesses; firstly, he as a person has changed, and, arguably, for the worse. Secondly, as I mentioned previously, a big upheaval could possibly shatter his control, making him vulnerable again. No straight up attack, mind you - his defences against those sort of approaches are insurmountable. But precisely because he's incessantly locked in battle with his emotions, he will, inevitably, at some point in time, lose to them.

'Dumbledore, however, while objectively not quite as accomplished as Snape in this particular field, has taken a different approach. His Occlumency does not fight against emotions; he can laugh, cry, taunt and bristle with anger while still maintaining his grip. That is because his emotions are more or less in sync with his mind; he's learned to have his defences adapt to them; they, so to speak, swing with his emotions. Follow so far?'

'Yes?' Harry said cautiously. A few of the more obscure texts he'd found in the library suddenly started to make a great deal of sense.

'Tell me, in your opinion, which is the true path, and which isn't.'

'Dumbledore's,' he answered immediately. 'It may be overall more difficult, but it's potentially stronger. Not even speaking of how it doesn't cripple him emotionally either.'

'Quite,' she agreed with a nod. 'I, too, was instructed in that philosophy of Occlumency. He didn't found it, of course; there were countless before him. But there is one big disadvantage. While Snape is, objectively, as perfect as he'll ever be in Occlumency, the other path is a never-ending journey; a confrontation between your mind and your emotions, a quest for balance, you might say. Neither Dumbledore nor I am even close to what is theoretically possible and we might, thus, equally theoretically, still be susceptible to prodigiously strong attacks on our minds.'

'I understand,' he said, nodding slowly. 'If this is meant as a quiz, I choose your path. I don't want to stop being a human just to be a wizard.'

She smiled briefly, her features assuming a somewhat melancholic expression. 'I've heard that one before. Okay, truthfully, I fully expected you to make this choice, which is why we are here. At my old school and specifically the country I'm from, there's...an old custom. A rite of passage, so to speak, any aspiring Occlumens has to pass to be considered more than a student. It is also the first and last formal step in our approach to understanding the emotional concept of clouding our thoughts. Now, maybe you can get it yourself; what would be your method to bringing the structured, inflexible yet fragile and intangible mind in harmony with our fleeting, obscure and ever-changing emotions?'

He brooded over the problem for a while. 'Confrontation,' he said eventually with a turn of his stomach.

She smiled her brittle little smile again, taking another sip from the glass. 'Exactly. Now, what, in your opinion, are the most powerful and raw emotions of the human being.'

'Fear,' he said, with an uneasy feeling, 'and lust, possibly.'

She seemed to snort at that last bit for a second, fixing him with a somewhat amused gaze. 'Yeah, that would be so much easier,' she murmured more to herself. 'But it is, in my opinion, truly fear. Fear is part of more emotional states than any other: envy, jealousy, certain states of egotism, the list goes on, but I'm no mind healer. Fear is powerful; there is no other base feeling that is so difficult to control like fear. The more people fear, the less they think. It is...inbuilt, a feature of humanity. It has worked in the past, of course, and it still serves its purpose: the fear of mutilation, the fear of skulls, of dangerous animals, all that is useful for the survival of a human being. But it clearly challenges the supremacy of the mind. Thus, fear is an-emotionally not dulled-Occlumens' greatest enemy.'

He looked at her, letting her explanation wash over him. He had a feeling where this was going, and it sure was not going to be pleasant...

'What you are going to attempt this night is what we call the Harrowing, an, admittedly, long forbidden and nearly forgotten...ritual of sorts, where we pit a young witch or wizard against their base fears in the rawest and most primitive form.'

'What do I need to do?' he asked, steeling himself. 'And why are you so nervous? Merlin, I've never seen you like this.'

'We were talking about fear, weren't we?' she replied with a crooked smile, emptying her glass in one gulp. 'Follow me.'

She stood up and led him towards the stairs, and Harry quickly realised that they must be heading towards the garret. She slowly opened the door, swirling her wand in a vaguely familiar manner.

The room was dark and completely empty besides a single, blindingly bright source of light near the back of the room. That did not worry Harry, nor did the feeling of imminent danger worry him. What _did_ worry him was the set of heavy chains that were attached to the sole chair in front of him, clearly intended to keep whoever sat down in place against their wishes.

'Sit,' she ordered in a steely voice.

Harry looked at her, second thoughts cavorting through his mind like venomous snakes. Could he really trust her? What if this was a setup? What if she was with someone else? The Notts? They wouldn't shy away from anything, he was sure.

'Please sit, Harry,' she repeated herself, not looking away. He gazed at her, her silvery blond hair, her eyes the colour of a glacier. They weren't their usual calm, though, he noted. Like the storm raging outside, her eyes were as furiously emotional and restless as the spraying foam of the sea. 'Please,' she repeated one last time.

And finally, he sat down, though the chains did not yet move.

'Give me your wand,' she said, holding out her hand.

'That's bollocks!' Harry snapped, his throat dry. 'Have you lost your mind?'

She smiled at him somewhat sadly. 'You remember yourself asking me to hand you a phial of my blood? I took a leap of faith back then. Now, it's time for yours.'

He opened his mouth to shout his protests but stopped before the first word formed itself. Looking down at his wand, he took a few calming breaths and handed it to her, looking away immediately when she cautiously stowed it in her somewhat skimpy robes. He didn't want her to spot the apprehension on his face. 'This is nuts,' he protested again. 'If I die tonight, I'll haunt you until the end of times.'

She gave a short bark of laughter, tapping the chains that began coiling around Harry's hands and feet, even his head and chest. 'Sadly,' she said in a strangely high-pitched tone. 'That will not be possible. You know, at first, I was worried your family might come to hunt me down after this. I told you as much ... But, this afternoon, your Aunt Bellatrix and a certain Narcissa Malfoy, another relation of yours, I'm sure, spared themselves the effort.' She rolled up her left sleeve, showing Harry glowing lines of burning red. The skin underneath seemed to wither and die as he watched, turning progressively dark and sickly.

'If you die tonight, I'm afraid to say the vow I took will do me in, too, for what I'm about to do to you. So, I hope you can forgive me for getting a little drunk on possibly my last day in this world.'

She rolled down her sleeve again and motioned her wand towards the source of light in the middle of the room. It seemed to be growing bigger.

She walked around the chair until she was right in front of him and tenderly held his face in both of her warm and delicate hands. Then, she closed her eyes and gave him a very soft kiss on the cheek, near his lips.

'For good luck,' she whispered, smiling whimsically. She smelled of alcohol.

Harry just stared at her, unsure what to make of all this, apprehension creeping through his bones like a disease that made his spine brittle. 'What am I supposed to do?' he asked rather anxiously. He could see that the light did, in fact, not seem to be getting bigger but rather closer. It was a fiercely glowing, translucent white raven, he realised, his heartbeat quickening, and darkness seemed to swallow the room behind it.

'Survive,' she croaked, flicking her wand. The raven instantly expired, dousing the room in undiluted dread, and frost and all that was unholy, causing Harry to clamp up immediately. 'I'll be with you at the first light of the morrow,' she said so quietly that Harry hardly understood her. 'One way or another...'

The door closed with a bang, and he heard steps hurriedly running down the stairs, but all that, all this was secondary to the darkness, the cold, the fear, the terror he felt as he saw dozens of chained creatures in cloaks approaching him, their mouths gaping, their festering grey skin covering their eyes, their rattling breaths drawing all the warmth and all the hope, all the memories of everything good he'd ever seen, ever felt, ever done from his body. Everything was taken from him, the memories of his grandfather faded as fast as those of Sirius or Regulus. His aunts, his cousins; all got swallowed by the gaping void, that-hungry still-ripped out everything he'd ever held dear from within the depth of his soul: his friends, his freedom, everything that made him Harry and not the pathetic excuse of a person he'd been as a child, leaving behind nothing but an empty, shaking, whimpering husk of agony and misery. And then the images came.

And Harry screamed.


	27. VoD: Distant summers

**Distant summers**

* * *

Aenor decided to pour herself another drink, her mood mirroring the thunderous storm outside. If nothing else, at least she didn't have to die sober. _Crazy Blacks!_ she thought regretfully. But what other choice was there to make? Especially considering Lestrange's obvious problems with controlling her temper, it wasn't completely unthinkable that both women might have decided right then and there that she was a security risk if she had objected to the last vow. The Malfoy woman especially, while she was objectively not as magically potent as Lestrange, seemed to be the calculating sort. When her hand had brushed against the wall back when she'd arrived, she had immediately understood that while the wards _tolerated_ her presence, she was, by all means, one spell away from total annihilation during her stay. They might be kind of crazy, but their wards were the real deal. And now this.

She took another swig, holding the crystal glass she'd conjured up in her right hand, inspecting its pure brilliance in the violet light that shone through the windows, her left arm dangling uselessly at her side. _I'd really appreciate it if you didn't get lost in there and die on me, Harry..._

Right then, a blood-curdling scream reverberated through the house, penetrating the silence, and she nearly spilt her entire drink again. At least half of the bottle she was currently relieving of its contents had already found its way like this into the depth of the sofa she was huddling on.

Should she have given him the last tip, too? But Harry was rather bright so, surely, he would have understood, wouldn't he? The problem was, Aenor thought with a sinking feeling, that calmly considering the task at hand while being tortured by a pack of Dementors which, while bound, had just enough reach to get within a hairbreadth of his skin, was probably a rather tall order.

She took another sip.

It was kind of amusing, really. Back when she'd suffered through the ordeal, she'd been as freaked out by the chains as Harry, not even considering that they were, in fact, for the participant's own safety. She had no doubt that, should Harry manage to move even one centimetre, the Dementors would swoop in to devour his soul that very instant. Azkaban was a picnic in comparison, she knew. Having not even an inch between your skin and about a dozen ravenous Dementors all around you was a hell she would be glad not to experience ever again, not to mention that those abhorrent abominations were quite starved by now; ever since he'd finished with his experiments, there hadn't really been any reason to keep them around; but, on the other hand, there hadn't been a compelling reason to let them run rampant again, either. To be fair, she admitted, prisoners in Azkaban would have to live with their smaller doses of torture their entire lives. Even the most organised mind couldn't take that sort of stress without relief. All in all, it was rather lucky that they were still around, she surmised.

Another heart-rending scream shattered her illusion of comfort, and Aenor gave, once again, a tremendous start.

Well, Harry might have problems appreciating the opportunity right now, she silently admitted. She could, of course, at any given point in time, silence the door leading to the spacious room under the roof, but-somehow-she just couldn't bring herself to sit down here and pretend everything was fine. Glancing at her left arm again, she refilled her glass.

It was better this way. The outcome of Harry's struggle would determine her own fate, after all. She produced Harry's wand from within the folds of her robes and gave it another inspection, taking note of the alluring power it bled willingly into her hands.

After a few minutes, she realised that the screaming had stopped, but that was still far from reassuring. Aenor knew that most lost their mind in what was to come now, never to emerge again, or, in most other cases, only as a broken mimicry of their former selves. Suddenly losing her lust for alcohol, she hurled her glass against the fireplace.

 _Come on, Harry! You're not meant to be defeated by something like this, and I sure as hell don't want to bite the dust because I was too prideful to take a step back!_

 _~BLVoD~_

Ash - all was fire and ash. He aimlessly scurried through a world of ruins, corpses and the ever-present torturing blaze. At first, he had tried to find a cooler spot and hide, but then those _things_ had turned up, and he had had to flee once again. Sometimes, he would peek through the window of some half-collapsed building, but the horrors he witnessed there usually made him turn away again.

He ran and ran, long past the point of exhaustion, terror of what might lurk around the next corner gnawing at his sanity, dread of what he _knew_ to be lurking behind forcing his feet.

The way ahead was barred; a huge mansion seemed to have collapsed, blocking the road. It was a funny-looking building with, so it seemed, more spires than windows. Fearfully, he looked around, searching for another way, but there was none to be had. With no alternative, he snuck towards the front door, which hung crookedly on its hinges as if blasted backwards. The insides of the once-proud home were a mess: nearly everything had been reduced to softly glimmering heaps of many-coloured ash, though a few items, like a giant cauldron in the centre of the room, seemed eerily untouched by the inferno. With the utmost care, he crept along the softly creaking floor, careful not to step on anything and alert his pursuers.

All at once, something shot out of the rubble and grabbed his ankle. Looking down in horror, he saw the remnants of something that was once proud and grey. His own eyes widening, he realised that the smouldering and reeking, half-molten and coiled-up lump of coal beside him must be human.

'Promise me!' it croaked, blood pouring from its mouth. He bolted, ripping his feet with all his might from the grip of the thing on the floor. Through the next room he ran, ignoring the vaguely familiar paintings on the walls, through the kitchen, through the living room, jumping with eyes shut over anything big enough to make him wonder what it could have been. Finally, he reached the back door. With all his might, he yanked at the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. Without an alternative, he took a few steps back and jumped through the broken window...

...landing on a smooth floor with not a speck of dust in sight. He turned around. Behind him was just another impeccably clean corridor leading towards a set of stairs, peacefully snoozing portraits decorating the hallway. Turning his gaze to the front again, he realised that he was standing in an entrance hall, and shadows seemed to gather in front of the house.

A woman with long red hair and a baby in her arms appeared at the top of the stairs. 'Are we expecting visitors, James?'

Holding his breath, he reached for the door. It clicked with the soft promise of death...

'You will do as I say! No more wandering about the mansion at night!'

He whirled around. A plump older woman in a maid outfit was wagging her finger at him in a scolding manner.

'But-' he began.

'You will do as I say!' she said at once, sternly raising her finger.

'But what am I-' he tried again.

'You will do as I say!' Her voice easily drowned out his own.

'But you're supposed to-'

'You will do as I say!' she said once again, her tone not changing at all.

'But who are you?!' he cried in desperation.

But it was hopeless. 'No more questions! You will do as I say!' she parroted again, her expression and inflexion eerily unchanging.

He turned around, stomping his feet, racing up the stairs.

'You really ought to do as Miss Miller says, ~#§§$,' a kind voice of no discernible origin advised him, though some of the words remained unclear to him.

He ran up the stairs, but, in his haste, he stumbled, and, as if time were suspended, he could see the carpeted steps gradually closing in...

Scenes flashed before him like a film out of control. A bathroom, a burning house, a book in a gilded casing, the door... The only thing all the images had in common was the underlying, looming sense of horror. He screamed, but the memories mercilessly continued to race in front of his eyes. The door again, a room full of moving shades, a group of Aurors firing indiscriminately... He couldn't take it anymore. With a monumental effort, he concentrated with all his might on the only image he thought he could stomach.

...And then he lay in an old storeroom, his whole body aching, blood pouring from his nose, ears and even his eyes. Confusion, panic and the feeling of helplessness paralysed his mind, and he could slowly feel his consciousness dimming, dully wondering if he'd bleed to death before someone would find him...

The world blurred.

'Good morning, Young Master!' greeted a crisp voice, and he could, even without opening his eyes, see the light flooding the room. 'Breakfast will be served in an hour. Your etiquette teacher will see you from eight till eleven-thirty. Dancing lessons will take place after lunch. In the evening, your presence is expected at Longbottom Manor. Angélique will be accompanying you.'

He heard the sound of a window opening, followed by that of a closing door.

Groggily, he got up, stumbling towards his desk where all his approved books had been sorted in towers as he was in the habit of doing. Taking one at random, he opened it just for something to do. It was children's book on animals.

Idly turning the pages, he peered at the pictures without really taking anything in. A cat, an owl, a toad, a raven, a dog, a rat, a snake...

He scrutinised the picture of the small reptile as it blinked at him lazily, showing off the pattern of its tail and its pointy fangs. For some reason, he found himself frowning and turning back to the pages at the beginning.

A cat, an owl, a toad, a raven, a dog, a rat...

The rat was merrily nibbling on a bit of cheese. The rat...wasn't as unimportant as the snake, but still – it was just a rat.

A cat, an owl, a toad, a raven, a dog...

This time, he examined the dog carefully. For some reason, he thought it should be darker, bigger and fiercer, not so small and spruce. No, this wasn't the dog.

A cat, an owl, a toad, a raven...

A raven.

It was a magnificent drawing, the animal nearly too big for the page. Its sharp-looking dark beak was turned upwards as it regarded him with a haughty look, showing off its softly shimmering pitch-black plumage.

The raven.

You could get the impression that it stared from the depths of the picture right back into your very soul. This one, he thought, they'd gotten right, at least.

The raven crowed softly. He softly caressed the picture of the bird. It closed its eyes and crowed again in a gentle and pleased manner, causing him to smile.

Then, he noticed the little capsule that the raven had attached to one of his legs. Curiously, he ran his hand downwards over the drawing. The raven opened its eyes, crowing in alarm, and then, as fast as lightning, pinched him harshly with its beak.

Totally bewildered, he retracted his hand, looking at his forefinger. A few droplets of blood ran down his hand.

He closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair that was much too big for him. Something about the raven was calling to him. He opened his eyes again, looking back at the book in front of him. It showed a medium-sized greyish bird perched on a fence post in front of a meadow – just like before. He blinked in confusion. Then, still staring at the picture of the _wrong_ raven, he opened his eyes _again_.

Not only the picture, everything was wrong, he noticed with a jolt. The chair, the desk, the house; everything was so dead that it might not even be there in the first place! He alone felt real, if strangely out of tune. Neither Marietta nor Angélique, whom he could spy at through several suddenly not-so-solid walls, had any spark in them. The only other thing glimmering with any semblance of reality was...something outside of the house. Standing up, he walked unassertively towards the open window.

With every step he took, the world seemed to tremble with anticipation. When he passed by the large cupboard, he could hear the muted sound of a terrible, wretched scream.

But that couldn't be right. Standing next to the curtain, he couldn't see anything extraordinary outside of the house. The sun had long since arisen. A silky breeze of air wafted towards him, and not a single cloud darkened the sky.

'Young Master? Breakfast is ready! Please make yourself presentable at once!' shouted one of the maids.

He shot one last look outside again, but there was nothing. Shrugging, he was about to turn away when he spotted something that gave him pause; there was a considerable patch of hoar frost on the window sill.

Frowning again, he approached the window once more. He could feel the warmth of the sun even from within the room, so why exactly...

'Young Master? You need to come at once!' the voice shouted again, more urgently this time.

His first instinct was to obey, but then he remembered the ravens... Cautiously, he stretched his hand upwards, in the direction of the window. The rays of the sun still felt as good and warming as ever...until they didn't. Suddenly, his hand felt as if it was made of snow and ice, and he hastily drew it back.

'Young Master!' He heard someone climbing the stairs.

Making up his mind, he hastily ran across the room and dragged the heavy chair underneath the window.

Someone knocked on the door. 'Young Master? There will be no more of this nonsense, I'm coming in!'

In a hurry, he climbed the chair. He wanted to know, he wanted the truth!

'Young Master, you will come down from there at once!' Marietta said with a scowl. 'Don't you care about all the work we do for you? Don't you care about what your parents would have wanted for you?'

He stared at her, one foot on the window sill.

'You will cease this ridiculous behaviour! Your parents would have wanted you to listen to us!'

He continued to stare. Every fibre of his body wanted to obey, wanted to climb down, wanted to apologise - and yet he didn't.

'Don't you care about their memory? Don't you care about the Potters? Do you really want to sully their names with your insolent antics?'

'I don't care,' he said suddenly, his voice hoarse. All of a sudden, it hurt to speak.

'You will come down at once and li-'

'No,' he said flatly. For some reason, his mouth tasted of iron.

'Come down a-'

And then he jumped. Glacially slow, he flew through the air in a magnificent, heroic arc, his whole self revelling in the victory of this moment, the brightness of the sun, the freedom that lay beyond...

...until, still mid-jump, he came face to face with the grey-skinned, hooded, rattle-breathed abomination of utter despair.

 _ _~BLVoD~__

It was now or never, Aenor decided. It wasn't quite dawn yet, but the vow, she realised angrily, looking down at the necrotic tissue that had just reached her chest, didn't leave her any other choice. If his mind was still trapped, she might be able to do something about it – hopefully. If, by some miracle, he had already prevailed, any more exposure to the hope-sucking fiends would be cruel and risky if effective training, but he could get more of that anytime.

Her own grandfather, she remembered with an angry scowl, had left her in there for nearly a day, even though she'd emerged from her delirium after only a few hours. She'd never been so angry with him in her entire life.

Taking two steps at once, she pointed her wand at the door with a certain amount of anxiety. The lock snapped open immediately, and the door swung wide open. With a lazy swish of her wand, she summoned her Patronus, siccing it on the Dementors that still surrounded their prey on all sides. They retreated with wailing shrieks, fleeing from the dauntless image of her little pet as if the sun itself was at their heels.

Paying them no further attention, she slowly approached the chair in the middle.

Harry looked as white as snow, his whole body cramped. His eyes were closed, but the heavy shadows and slight moisture around his eyelashes told her that he'd been crying. She didn't think any less of him because of it.

'Harry?' she called softly, struggling to undo the chains with one hand and keeping his body from falling over. 'Harry? Can you hear me?'

'…'

'Harry?' she asked again, gently running her hand under his chin to make him look up.

'bmb...' he mumbled, not opening his eyes.

'What?' she asked, holding her breath, hope spreading in her like fireworks.

'Bambi...' he muttered again, his voice rough and his trembling hand pointing towards the glowing Patronus in the far back of the room.

Aenor, despite herself, smiled widely at him. 'Come on, let's get you out of here.'

'Throat...'urts,' he murmured after a few coughs.

'Don't speak yet, Harry. You've likely injured your vocal cords. Let's get you sorted out before we depart for London. Your aunt will scream blue murder if she sees you like this.'

With caution, she carried him back down the stairs, closing the door behind her with a great amount of relief. It was a bit of work to get him downstairs without any use of magic and with only one hand, but, eventually, she heaved him into the large bed, removing his shoes and vanishing his robes, forcing Harry to drink a potion that would grant him dreamless sleep.

A cawing sound from above the bed startled her so badly that she nearly bumped heads with Harry. Looking up, she saw her raven sitting on the highest perch of the room, an ancient pier glass. 'When did you get here?' she asked, puzzled. 'No matter. It's a pity we can't stay to celebrate, but I guess his grandfather will be able to explain things well enough.'

The raven crowed softly in response.

'It seems that you've taken a liking to the boy, haven't you?' she asked with a grin as she deliberately flexed her left hand.

The bird blinked slowly. Then, he spread his wings and sailed down from the mirror and landed on the bed-head, his gaze fixated on the boy.

'Well,' she said in a low voice. 'I can't blame you.'

 _ _~BLVoD~__

Hermione currently sat bent forward at her desk, her nose rather unnecessarily close to the parchment in front of her, her expression one of concentration. Raindrops pattered against her window. Very slowly and with the feeling of great satisfaction, she made the last period.

She'd made great strides in her homework, so from Hermione's point of view, everything was perfectly fine with her holidays. Her father had been a bit...smothering the first few days, but it was all good in her opinion. She really had missed her parents.

'Hermione, letter for you!' the voice of her mother called through the house.

She straightened up immediately. _The letter from Harry!_ she thought with excitement.

Bolting down the stairs with a rumbling noise that elicited a reprimanding click of her father's tongue, she came upon a scene that strained her ability to suppress a laugh.

A giant eagle owl the colour of rust rested on one of the chairs, her wings slightly unfolded, lording over her mother, who seemed to be offering the bird a surprisingly varied assortment of snacks, all nicely presented on small plates. Sometimes, the owl would take a hesitant bite, at other times it would snap its beak judicially. It was true that Hermione had told her that it was considered nice to give owls a snack but...

'That's too much, Mum.' She laughed. 'You don't need to make such a big deal out of it.'

Her mother smiled mysteriously. 'No, no, this really is fun. My, I've never had the chance to feed an owl. And this one looks like it might be aristocracy, too.'

Well, Hermione couldn't argue with that. The owl in question seemed oddly pleased with being offered increasingly sophisticated snacks and nicely decorated dishes, after all. In her mind, there couldn't be a single doubt that this was, therefore, Harry's owl.

Without looking up from her serving, the owl casually held out one leg, where Hermione immediately noticed a small bit of folded parchment. She recognised the script immediately.

'It's Harry's!' she announced loudly.

'What's it say?' asked her mother curiously, offering her avian guest another plate with a few slices of their Sunday roast on it.

'He, er, asks if he can come over later today,' Hermione said, looking up from the short letter with a hopeful look. 'He apologises for the short notice, but...'

'I don't mind,' her mother responded with a quick smile. 'He seemed like a nice young man. Even his owl is well-mannered.'

Hermione beamed brightly at that. 'Thanks, Mum! I'll write an answer immediately, then.' She took the parchment and sprinted in the direction of the stairs.

'Be sure to tell your father about your guest!' her mother called after her, causing Hermione to groan softly. While she was thankful that her mother was apparently approving of Harry, her father had recently taken it upon himself to warn her about the dangers of men in general. Just because, he had insisted.

Dashing to her desk, she scribbled a few short sentences and raced back down, offering her 'letter' to the owl. Glancing towards Hermione's scrawl, the owl hooted indignantly, turning her back on her.

'You really should have taken the time to write it down neatly. If even Harry's owl disapproves, what do you think his opinion will be?' teased her mother.

'I'm sure it will be perfectly alright,' claimed Hermione forcefully.

In the end, Hermione's mother managed to persuade the owl to take the parchment with another bit of their Sunday roast.

'Have you told your father yet?'

Rolling her eyes, Hermione replied, 'I'll do so in a minute!'

Her father was sitting in the living room, a large newspaper in his hand, his attention captured by the TV.

'Dad?'

'One second, Hermione.'

' _...already the fourth case of fishermen gone missing near the Danish, German and Dutch coasts this last week. Independent investigators and governments alike are baffled by the sudden spike in disappearances. Meanwhile, Eco-activists around the globe are pointing towards the increasingly unpredictable weather patterns and incalculable risks of global warming._ '

'Just more of the same,' her father said heavily with a sigh, turning down the volume. 'What is it you wanted, love?'

'Oh, er, I just wanted to tell you that Harry will be coming today,' she said uneasily and with the intention of getting the worst out of the way as fast as humanly possible.

'Will he now?' her father asked, an eyebrow raised, folding his arms.

'Mum said it was okay already!' Hermione huffed, crossing her arms likewise.

Mr Granger sighed again, leaning back in his chair. 'Are you sure this is such a good idea, love? You wrote us that he's some kind of...political pariah, didn't you?'

'It'll be fine, Dad! Besides, he may be a pariah, but as far as I can tell his family still has a lot of political pull.'

'Old money?' her father asked shrewdly.

This forced Hermione to laugh, the tension leaving her body in a second. 'Definitely. And loads of it, I bet.'

'I see,' he said neutrally. 'Well, alright. If you feel like you can trust him, who am I to disagree.'

'Thanks, Dad!' she squealed, hugging him in a storm.

'It's alright, Hermione. You're my only daughter; you have to understand that I'm only worried about you. It's...difficult, letting you go nearly all year to some place we're not even allowed to visit.'

'I know,' she hummed, not breaking the embrace. 'Thanks for being so understanding...'

'So?' he said eventually, beaming at her. 'When can we expect your fancy friend to arrive?'

'Uh, now that you mention it, I really don't know wh-'

Knock, knock.

Hermione's unassertive guess for an answer was interrupted when someone knocked politely on the entryway door.

Daughter and father glanced at each other wordlessly. As if to fill the sudden void, the TV seemed to blare despite its relatively low volume.

' _So what do you have for us, John? Still more of the same? Heavens, I could use a bit of sun!_ '

' _Wouldn't object to that either, Matthew. Alas, the most rain-intensive summer of the last eighty years continues to impress with bouts of rain, storms and just a bit more rain._ '

' _So still no worrying about watering the garden plants?_ '

' _If I were you, I'd start worrying about your sunflowers not getting enough light. But in all honesty, the next few weeks..._ '

Knock, knock – there it was again.

'Why is that person not using the doorbell?' her father asked, puzzled.

 _It couldn't be...Could it?_ thought Hermione. 'I'll get the door,' she volunteered, wanting to make sure – just in case.

She sprinted towards the front door, overtaking her inquisitive-looking mother. She came to a sliding halt, her socks carrying her a few feet after she'd stopped running. Taking a breath, she opened the door.

A thunderbolt flashed across the sky, dousing the person in front of her with dazzling light. There, looking as if he'd just strolled out of his private office on the management storey of some rather posh bank building, stood Harry, wearing a heavy anthracite loden coat over a tight-fitting business suit with a silken dress handkerchief, a remarkable silver-green cravat and sparkling clean black leather shoes that looked like they were handmade and, quite possibly, Italian.

'Good day, Hermione,' he greeted her formally, bowing ever so slightly.

Hermione just stared at him. Somehow, she just couldn't juggle the distinctly magical Harry with loden coats and business suits. It was even worse since he looked rather comfortable in his outfit.

'Mind if I step in?' he asked politely after a while, a small smile playing about his lips. 'The weather's not holding up, I fear.' His left hand pointed, quite needlessly, towards the dark grey sky, where sickly violet light occasionally shone through the thunderclouds, water curtains and occasional strikes of lightning.

Hermione, blinking rather frantically, finally came to her senses. 'Oh! Ahem, yes, of course. Hi, Harry!'

'Thank you,' he smiled gratefully, smartly stepping over the threshold, where he came face to face with Hermione's mother. 'Ah, Mrs Granger. It does my heart good to see you again. Thank you again for the great pleasure of your generous invitation.' In one fluid motion, he produced a small and very tasteful bouquet of flowers from the depths of his coat. Hermione could see her mother's face lighting up at once. 'To show my appreciation, I thought a small display of flowers of the summer season during these dreary days might be a welcome change of pace.'

'Oh, you needn't have bothered, Dear. You're very welcome here.' Her mother beamed at him. 'And please call me Mary! Since you're so early, would you like to have lunch with us?'

'That would be delightful, Mary,' declared Harry smoothly, kissing her hand again. 'But I'm afraid that I may not have planned for this eventuality. Some other time, surely, I would not be able to resist. Something to look forward to, mayhap?'

Her mother laughed surprisingly girlishly before she vanished in the direction of the kitchen again, causing Hermione to raise an eyebrow.

'Harry, what are you doing?' she hissed, angry and embarrassed alike.

He looked at her, confused. 'What do you mean?'

'Why are you acting like this?' she demanded.

'This is how I always act during formal greetings though?' he said, now looking like an actor who'd lost his script.

'Casual! You need to be more casual!' she whispered urgently.

'Casual, alright. I, er, haven't actually introduced myself to any Muggles before. Casual, okay. No problem.'

Just then, Hermione's father came around the corner, likely looking for the source of all the noise.

Harry, with a look of determination, slowly raised his hand. 'What's cracking, Granger,' he drawled in a very lazy and disinterested manner that didn't resemble his usual speech at all.

'Hello?' her father asked, stumped, obviously not able to cope with Harry's impeccable appearance and the rather underwhelming greeting.

Hermione, fighting the rising sense to flee the scene and deny any involvement, coughed meaningfully. 'Dad? Can you please go see Mum? I need to have a few words with Harry.'

'Alright?' he said, looking from his daughter to her guest a few times, before following after his wife.

'Harry?' she growled. 'Are you doing this intentionally?'

'This is ridiculous!' he exclaimed innocently. 'First, I'm too formal, and now I'm too casual? Pick one or the other already!'

Hermione groaned, rubbing her temple. 'I give up. Just...just do your thing. Please don't ever do the second one again, though.' Looking him over again, she asked, 'Where did you get those clothes anyway?'

'Anything wrong with them?' he asked in a hurt voice. 'I was told this was an adequate way to dress up as a Muggle. Am I mistaken?'

'What? No, it's just... Ah, why am I even bothering? Isn't it a bit too warm with the coat and all?'

'Why would it be?' he inquired, bewildered. 'It's charmed to be temperate, after all. I still prefer robes, of course, but-I have to say-Muggle fashion isn't half as bad as I thought.'

'Fashion...right,' Hermione said with a sigh. 'The kitchen's through here.' Eyeing his suit again, she shook her head.

'Lead the way,' he said with a small grin.

When they arrived, her mother seemed to be glaring at her father. Given Harry's _subtly_ different introduction to the two, it wasn't too hard to guess the topic of their conversation.

'Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner, Harry?' her mother asked hopefully.

Harry smiled blithely at her. 'I'm sure I'll regret passing this invitation up, but Hermione and I have to be on our way momentarily.'

'How are we going to travel then, Harry?' Hermione asked curiously. She had been wondering all summer long.

He, however, just grinned mischievously at her, causing Hermione to look at him askance.

'I think Hermione raises a fairly important question,' opined her father, crossing his arms again. 'I hope you plan to travel safely?'

'Never fear, Mr Granger.' Again, that grin. She remembered him grinning like that during their train ride, back when she'd just met him. It didn't bode well, she decided. 'We will, in fact, be travelling with...' on cue, he procured a broom stick the size of Hermione's thumb, '...this!'

Hermione stared unblinkingly at the misshapen matchstick Harry held high like the Holy Grail.

'Oh! That does look interesting.' Her mother chuckled.

'Is it shrunk? How will be both fit, Harry?'

'You've got the wrong idea, Hermione. Take my hand!' he directed her.

She did, feeling as if the situation was spiralling somewhat out of control. 'A-And now?' she asked, taking note of the glare her father sent Harry's way.

'And now,' Harry said, tapping the miniature broom with his wand that was suddenly in his hand, 'we're gone.'

From one moment to the next, the whole kitchen was bathed in garish white light, while the eardrum-shattering ringing of a whistle permeated the neighbourhood.

Hermione spun through space, Harry's hand her only anchor, her only orientation in a wild carousel of jerky movements. Estimating herself to be rotating at least four times a second, she shut her eyes and mouth as tight as she could. A few seconds later, everything came to a sudden halt, and Hermione nearly fell over, only Harry's doughty actions rescued her from further embarrassment.

She looked around. It was fairly obvious they weren't anywhere near her home anymore. In fact, the only thing both places seemed to have in common was the perpetual downpour of rain.

'Harry...? she grumbled, holding her head to make the spinning cease. 'Did you just abduct me by Portkey?'

'I certainly did not!' He smiled winningly. 'We had an appointment, after all.'

'B-But my parents! I don't even have my wand or a jacket!'

He waved her concern aside like an irksome fly. 'Hardly a problem. It's still summer, and you couldn't do magic without getting a warning at any rate.'

'You just did magic!' she hissed angrily at him.

'What unsustainable accusations!' His pupils wandered to the upper left corner of his eyes for a second. 'To some extent, at least,' he amended eventually. 'I just activated something already cast.'

'What am I supposed to do about the rain?' she shouted at him indignantly.

'Oh! I've acquired this mechanical rain-repellent device!' He opened his coat a bit, drawing out a huge, black umbrella. Then, to Hermione's amazement, he pointed it straight at the sky in a dramatic fashion.

After three painful seconds, he directed his gaze towards the Muggle implement in his hands. 'It seems to be faulty,' he observed calmly.

Snorting at him, Hermione wrenched the umbrella out of his hand and pressed the discreet button near the handle.

Without a hitch, the brolly unfolded at once. Harry watched her like a cat, tensing a bit, but, ultimately, looking a bit disappointed. 'Shouldn't it improve the weather?' he asked sceptically. 'What good is a bit of cover?'

'I don't think Muggles have such a thing,' she responded, rolling her eyes.

'Oh,' he said, clearly taken aback. 'Well, let's get on with it, then. I promised my aunt that I'd only be away for an hour or two.'

'So that's why you didn't want to continue flattering my mother and irritating my father?' she inquired scathingly.

'Well, yes,' he said with a grin. 'My aunt made me four Portkeys specifically as a bit of a favour, so I don't really want to go against my promise in this.'

'I knew it! So you _were_ doing it on purpose! Please tell me they were Ministry-approved, at least,' she groaned.

'They're Ministry-approved,' he replied with a gentle smile.

'Really now?' she asked pleasantly surprised.

He laughed. 'No, they're definitely not. They're rather illegal, actually, but don't concern yourself with such trifling matters. Come on, this way.'

Not one year ago, she'd have given Harry the dressing-down of the year, but now, she could only sigh with pronounced frustration and jog after her friend, who had started off with a brisk pace.

'Where are we?' she asked as soon as she'd caught up with him.

'Eastern Wales, the exact location is hardly relevant.'

Hermione looked around for real this time. They were on some kind of forest gravel path, and huge lime and beech trees surrounded them on all sides. And that was it, she decided. There was just a lot of wood and the winding path that crept along a mild slope.

'Where are we headed?' she asked, trying to weasel a bit more information out of him. She'd had enough surprises for one day.

'It's not far, you'll see. No need for concern either, there's absolutely no danger lurking ahead,' he added with a gentle and, she guessed, sincere smile for once.

Realising that this was probably all she could hope for at this time, she decided on a different approach. 'Having a good summer, Harry?'

'Oh, quite nice, really. Of course, I nearly got killed on accident that one time. Right, and I've also narrowly escaped becoming a soulless husk. It was quite alright apart from those bits.' He glanced at her incredulous expression. 'Bit rainy, though,' he supplemented his summary with a small smile.

'Your attempts at humour are still as terrible as ever, Harry,' she said with exasperation.

He looked into her eyes. 'This time, however, I was being honest.'

Hermione blinked, faltering in her steps. Harry did not seem to notice or care, and Hermione had to run for a few seconds to catch up to him again.

'Are you alright, Harry?' she asked in a small voice.

'I'm fine,' he returned unimpressively.

'Do you want to t-'

'I'm fine, Hermione,' he repeated more forcefully. 'Look, let's not get into that. I'm a bit stressed out, but there's no real problem besides a lack of sleep, so let's just pretend I made a little joke and you found it hilarious.'

'Given the evidence so far, that seems highly unlikely,' she quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood.

'You'll learn to appreciate it, I'm sure,' he responded with a lopsided smile.

What followed were ten minutes of walking in silence. Harry's mood seemed to darken with every step he took; where he'd been playful and mischievous at the start, he was now absorbed in thought and rather grim-looking.

'Why was it necessary to approach from so far away?' she asked eventually.

'Wards,' he grunted, scowling at something at the side of the road.

Curiously, Hermione followed his gaze, spotting a broken-down swing and some sort of camping ground.

Her attention might have been better served elsewhere, though, as she unceremoniously stumbled into Harry. 'Oof!' she exclaimed, rubbing her stinging nose. 'What's the m-'

'We're there,' he said curtly.

But there was nothing, of course. The "road" continued to be a useless dirt track of no purpose or destination. The most remarkable thing to speak of, if there was such a thing, was the inconspicuous meadow that spanned about a few dozen yards. A few of the trees at the edge of the clearing seemed to have been struck by lightning or burned by something else – but that was really it.

'There's nothing,' Hermione summed up her observation.

He wordlessly grabbed her sleeve and marched towards the field of grass. 'Really,' he said without any amusement. 'You might want to look again properly.'

With the next step, she felt as if her body had passed through a bubble. Her hair was charged, she felt her knees and elbows itching, and an annoying beep like tinnitus rang in her ears. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself facing a derelict ruin of a formerly splendid mansion. The whole front entry seemed to have crumbled, and all the windows facing their way were broken. A few of the erstwhile beautiful and colourful wooden blinds hung loosely and sadly off their hinges, swaying gently in the breeze, though most had come crashing down. A great fissure ran through the building, nearly splitting it in two. Most tiles on the roof were broken, and all that remained were heavily overgrown with moss. Creeping leaf tendrils had, at some point in time, also managed to get a hold of the house, attacking it in what seemed like an effort of the forest to overcome civilisation.

It was, Hermione decided, a really spooky sight. 'What is this?' she murmured.

'Welcome, Hermione,' Harry spat, pointing towards the ruin with a grand and sarcastic gesture, 'to Potter Manor.'

Her thoughts were racing. She looked from the prized exhibit of a haunted house to the black marks on the lawn. Nothing seemed to be growing there. 'What happened here?' she asked in a hushed voice. 'This place looks like it's been attacked.' She took a few hesitant steps forward, her fingers gently caressing the part of the wooden fence that did not seem to have been burned down.

'It was,' Harry replied curtly. He had not moved from the spot.

She strode across the grass until she had reached one of the dark spots that had sparked her curiosity. Slowly, she reached down with her hand.

'I'd keep my hands off that if I were you,' Harry said with a definite tone of warning.

She turned around, frowning. 'What happened?' she asked again.

He stared at her, his face completely blank. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn't see a single impulse, not the most minuscule of movements of his eyes or mouth. Harry, it seemed, was neither his roguish, his political, nor his insecure self. Right now, he was just like a sheet of polished stone: enduring, lasting, unmoving – and, she wagered, brittle. 'At this site, Harry Potter was born to James and Lilly Potter close to fifteen years ago,' he began with a cold tone. 'And this is also the site where James and Lilly Potter died when Harry Potter was not even one year old.'

'What happened?' she whispered for the third time.

'Uncertain. They were attacked, and everybody except little Harry died. That is all I know.'

'They were killed?' Hermione asked in a shrill voice.

'Yes. The Ministry was in an uproar afterwards. After all, one of their most popular families, the heir of heroes from their war against Grindelwald, had just been nearly wiped out when everybody had finally thought they were safe from the last remaining fanatical followers of the Dark Lord.'

'I'm so sorry,' she said softly, bringing her hand to her mouth in shock.

'Harry Potter was, according to the last will of the parents, released into the care of close friends of the family; a pair by the name of Remus John Lupin and Sirius Black,' he continued mechanically. 'They were warm and caring people and did the best they could - for a while.'

'For a while?' Hermione asked, feeling a vague sense of dread. She shouldn't have asked Harry to recount his tale. All of a sudden, her idle curiosity did not seem a very good reason to demand him to relive these no doubt painful memories. 'Harry, you don't need t-'

'Yet there was a small problem with Harry's parents' plans. You see, Remus Lupin had a bit of an issue: he was a werewolf, you see, even though he knew how to keep his inner demon in check.'

'Harry, listen, you do-'

'The Ministry, meanwhile, was in a bit of a bind. With the Blacks threatening to break the stranglehold the Pillars had on the Wizengamot, it was deemed unwise to allow the Potter family to fall into disarray, particularly so when one of the guardians of young Harry was a Black himself, no matter how estranged.'

Hermione watched with fascinated horror as Harry kept on rambling, his eyes stone cold, his face expressionless, his heart, she feared, not as much.

'It is unknown to me who approached Mr Lupin, but it hardly matters, in any case. The message was as follows: "Do as we say, or your little secret will be leaked." Considering this might possibly have had legal implications regarding the will of James and Lilly, Mr Lupin struggled, but-in the end-submitted to the will of the Ministry.'

'But that's extortion!' Hermione shouted over the pattering of the rain.

'With one half of the guardianship under their thumb, the Ministry quickly moved to place Harry in a more suitable environment. They dismissed his elves, fired the old staff and hired new, Ministry-approved maids to care for the last of the Potters. Sirius, bewildered and perplexed about the ability of the Ministry to enforce such radical changes, tried to fight against the new appointments, but the public emerged as the critical factor; with the recent and horrible attack on one of their beloved Pillars, they demanded that actions be taken so that Harry, at the very least, was safe and sound. Thus, Sirius' objections were overturned.'

'But couldn't he have done something?' she asked, her eyes wide. 'He had one half of the legal guardianship, didn't he?'

He neither nodded nor did he shake his head. He just went on. 'Magical Law isn't anything like what you're familiar with. With, effectively, both halves of the guardianship locked in dispute, the Ministry and the public itself were consulted to reconcile both parties. In this case, this meant that "Mr Lupin's demands" were all deemed prudent and enacted.'

'Couldn't Sirius Black ha-'

'What you also fail to realise,' he continued, mercilessly speaking over her again, 'is that the ultimate representative or claimant in Magical Law is decided by magic. The moment the relatively uninformed half-blood Mr Lupin signed a little sheet of paper that essentially reduced his role in the guardianship to ceremonial duties, magic identified the Ministry as the rightful second party of interest. Not that either Sirius or Mr Lupin ever discovered that little fact until much later.'

'So, you were a ward of the Ministry?' she whispered in horror.

'In essence, yes. And how triumphant they were in their victory. Young Harry was still given proper education, of course, but now the education was a bit more...selective. The illustrious Ministry, the fabled House Potter, the duties of every decent witch or wizard, those were the lessons their young charge was taught.

'Sirius, of course, tried to resist, and he fought many a time with his old schoolmate over these strange decisions he still thought were his friend's. In fact, despite his relative political irrelevance, he became such a nuisance that the Ministry eventually banned him from visiting, citing obscure reasons, alleged inappropriate behaviour and pointing towards past misdeeds and supposed criminal actions.'

Hermione, still staring at her friend in horror, took a few stumbling steps in his direction, her mind desperately trying to keep up, her heart aching with the pain Harry refused to reveal.

'Desperate, Sirius confronted Mr Lupin one last time. Their confrontation ended with wands being drawn. Shortly before the werewolf fled, he confessed his mistake, before vanishing from Britain in shame.

'Sirius, outraged and horrified at the same time, came to realise just how helpless, how powerless he truly was. A lone wizard, all but banished by his family, no friends in high places except for a somewhat sketchy friendship with his old headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. And yet, the wise and all-powerful Chief Warlock decided not to intervene. "The tidings were grim," he said. "The Wizengamot is split," he relayed. "The judicial implications are diverse," he cautioned. Albus Dumbledore, for all his might, for all his pull, for all his wisdom, did not see the need to act.'

Hermione finally came face to face with him and, without thinking, embraced Harry. He did not move to respond in kind. Strangely, she realised after a second, he also did not seem to shy away. It was as if his rage had killed the fear or uneasiness she'd always suspected he had of women.

'And so, Sirius Black turned towards the last person he would ever want to turn to – towards his grandfather. The very man he'd cursed as an old fool living in the past, the same man who'd proclaimed him to be no heir of the family. And his grandfather, Arcturus, the man he hadn't shared a word with for more than five years, nodded and said, "I will help."'

'What did he do?' she asked in awe.

'Sirius had neither spoken or even sent greetings or salutations to any family member for years, except for one who'd been cast out in shame. And yet, within five minutes of him explaining the situation to his grandfather, of him begging for help, he, Arcturus, and Sirius' brother, Regulus Black, another person he hadn't spoken to in years, left their family manor, wands in their hands, determination in their hearts.'

'They attacked this place?' she asked in shock. 'Couldn't they have done something legally? Even with all the pull of your family? I know your grandfather was once Chief Warlock...'

Harry jerkily shook his head. 'At the time, there was nothing to be done. The case was simple and clear: the Ministry had gotten hold of one half of the guardianship, and through public approval and by the grace of its own jurisdiction, this meant that it had the sole deciding power left. The only option at that time would have been for Mr Lupin to publicly prove that he'd been coerced. A difficult venture, but the moment the werewolf fled, it was all but a distant dream,' Harry spat with ire.

Hermione kept silent. She felt a certain amount of sympathy for the tragic figure of the werewolf. Forced to comply, discarded and forgotten, she could only imagine the amount of grief and pain that person would have had to endure.

'And so, three people, three Blacks, came to this place to take back what did not belong to the Ministry. Three Blacks against the wards, against the personnel and, eventually, against two full corps of battle-hardened Aurors. The fight lasted nearly all evening. Regulus and Sirius were critically injured, three Aurors died. But in the end, the Blacks prevailed against twenty-three opponents, against all the might the Ministry could point at them, against the injustice and the hypocrisy of those currently in power. Three people against twenty-three – and they won.'

Hermione remained silent, squeezing Harry a little harder. After a painful moment for the both of them, she hesitantly raised her voice. 'So that's how you became a Black?'

And Harry, incredibly and unfathomably, began to chuckle. 'Oh, no! That's how Harry Potter came be the ward of Sirius Black. But he was definitely still Harry Potter back then.'

 _There couldn't be more, could there?_ she thought, horrified. She wanted to ask, but how could she? The words died in her throat, yet Harry still did not need her encouragement, and he continued his story in the same uncaring tone.

'You know, Hermione, people in power do not like the taste of defeat. They do not like losing – at all! Even though Arcturus left little to no evidence, they suspected the Blacks had openly defied them; had, so they publicly claimed, attacked the home of the Potters, had killed the innocent Aurors, had destroyed the heritage of poor little Harry. What an uproar it was! Riding the wave of what was once approval and now only blind rage, the Ministry retaliated. First, by public denouncement. Later, by legislation. And lastly,' he said, his voice for the first time showing any hint of emotion, 'by force.' It was anger, she realised. Pure undiluted, hatred directed at those who had wronged him.

'One day, when Sirius was running errands in Diagon Alley, he was confronted by _four_ corps of Aurors, which, incidentally, is a major portion of the Office's forces, and was ordered to submit. In a matter of hours, Sirius was facing trial under the old laws that were meant as a last resort against the supporters of the Dark Lord, convicted of murder, sent to Azkaban for a lifetime. He did not even enter the halls of justice; he was tried in both his own absence as well as that of the Wizengamot.'

'Is he still in prison?' she asked huskily.

Harry did not even seem to hear her. 'Arcturus received word of the proceedings within hours. Too late to help his first grandson, but maybe not to save his second. He himself vanished within minutes, as did all those speculated to be connected to the Blacks. It had been, Arcturus had realised, a mistake for the Blacks to resurface after the Grindelwald trials.'

Her tears fell on Harry's robes and mixed with the rain. The umbrella lay a few feet away, forgotten and ignored. 'Does that mean that you are still, technically, a ward of the Ministry?' she inquired cautiously.

'No. The moment the Black family legally adopted me, that claim ceased to be of relevance. And even if they disputed the fact, I voluntarily discarded the name of Potter, threw it away and spat on it – good riddance!'

'Well,' she said with a shaky smile, 'at least you were safe.'

And Harry exploded with rage. 'SAFE?' he shouted, his voice radiating wrath. She'd meant it as a soothing comment, but Harry roughly shoved her aside and drew his wand.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, eyeing the wand that was sure to be pointed at her. And yet, to her complete bafflement, Harry quickly strode towards the umbrella that had carelessly been tossed in the mud and directed his wand at it. ' _Portus,_ ' he snarled.

Hermione held her breath. 'Oh my god!' she cried out. 'Harry, what about the Restriction of Underage Wizardry?!'

Just that moment, an owl swooped down at them with a loud popping sound. Harry, with a gaze full of hate, viciously slashed his wand at the bird. ' _Diffindo!_ '

A bright green streak of light, a ghastly shriek, and then there was only the half-split carcass of the bird plummeting towards the ground. Harry turned around and, without looking back, levelled his wand in the direction of the dead bird that was still in the air. ' _Incendio!_ '

Hermione shrieked, watching in horror as the owl burst into fire, the dark-blue flames incinerating her once beautiful feathering and the letter in her clutches both in a matter of seconds.

Harry gruffly grabbed her hand and touched the umbrella with his wand again, just as Hermione could hear the faint sounds of even more pops and cracks in the vicinity.

Immediately, the world started spinning again. This Portkey was even worse than the last one, Hermione decided. Not only because Harry wasn't gently holding her hand, or because she was distinctly frightened, but also because the movements were increasingly jerky, irregular.

Nevertheless, they eventually arrived. This time, Harry wasn't holding her up, and so she fell into the mud. Looking up, she saw Harry standing in front of yet another ruin. This mansion, however, seemed to have been burned to the ground, though a few explosions seemed to have destroyed part of the leftmost wing, and most of its many spires.

'Oh, how safe I was,' he continued sardonically as if nothing had interrupted them, pocketing his wand again, his voice an angry hiss. 'When Sirius was abducted, I was with his brother and his family. And you know what happened? The Ministry TORCHED the place,' he screamed, 'WHILE REGULUS, HIS DAUGHTERS AND I WERE STILL INSIDE!'

Hermione, who'd stopped crying out of shock, felt new tears gushing down her cheeks, but this time, she knew better than to embrace Harry, who still looked to be on the verge of going berserk.

'His wife ran towards the Aurors, tried to reason with them when they arrived,' he recounted, mysteriously defying Hermione's expectations, as Harry's expression froze as if the temperature had dropped a hundred degrees. 'They battered her so badly that she was at St Mungo's for months.'

Hermione abandoned any pretence and crouched down in the mud, hugging herself.

'When Regulus did not give me up, they set the whole mansion on fire, knowing full well that three children were inside. I escaped, so did the girls, but only because Regulus sacrificed himself, fighting them off; him, alone, against more than a dozen. And his prize?' Harry asked rhetorically with a ruthless edge to his voice, clearly adamant about finishing his story, despite Hermione sobbing and shaking her head. 'The moment he saw us escape, the moment he'd all but won, the moment the Aurors lost their immediate justification for their attack, a stray _Hurling Hex_ flung his body into the house where he died in the flames. A regrettable accident – or so the Ministry later claimed.'

'Please stop, Harry,' Hermione implored.

'Oh, I see you want me to wrap it up. Smart, too, seeing as the angelic and lion-hearted Aurors that were dispatched might be able to find the traces of this sorry excuse of a Portkey. So, let's get straight to the punchline!'

Hermione, sobbing uncontrollably, continued to shake her head. 'Please, please stop!'

'But, surely, you want to know the name of the squad captain in charge? The name of the person whose wand let loose the hex that killed Regulus?'

Hermione, snivelling, shook her head hard, and yet she couldn't quite look away from Harry, as he kneeled down in front of her and looked her straight in the eye.

'Rendall Prewett,' he breathed with the finality of a falling axe.

Two minutes later, Hermione was back home, where her bewildered parents would end up needing four hours to drag their still crying daughter out of the room she shut herself in.

* * *

 _ **AN, Journeyman of Occlumency:**_ _While I am extremely hesitant to give away points of the plot or answer questions about stuff I made allusions to, I am more than willing to clarify in case something might seem ambivalent or totally unclear._

 _In this case,_ Medovic _asked me about what 'Journeyman level' meant specifically for Harry (Aenor claimed that her test is for those who "delve beyond journeyman level" (B2Ch1/Overall 26_ _th_ _release). Note that this somewhat conflicts with her explanation given to Harry: "a test [...] any aspiring Occlumens has to pass to be considered more than a student" (ibid.)._

 _Now, ignoring the obvious difference between those two statements and without speculating which one might be closer to the truth (the chapter next week will shed some light on that), I am willing to say that Aenor's idea of journeymanship is more medieval than what many of you might initially consider. To her, a journeyman is someone who has learned all the basics, and who needs to travel the world to hone his craft. He's far from a master, but he's not a student anymore either. Remembering she specifically said "those who delve beyond journeyman level", it is implied that this would be one of the steps necessary to break through the last barrier (mastership)._

 _At this point, it is easy to forget that those terms (Apprenticeship, Journeyman etc.) all refer to people who study these matters professionally(!). That means that if Harry truly were a Journeyman of Occlumency in her eyes, he would automatically be as competent as the average professional (Mind Healer, Auror etc.). He has, for all intents and purposes, finished obligatory training._

 _This might also be the time to remember that Aenor mentioned that the "average level of Occlumency is so woefully abysmal" (B1Ch24)._

 _In short, should Harry truly be a journeyman, he'd be about as competent as most of those the Ministry employs as non-specialists regarding this particular field of magic. That means he's, in essence, better than everyone who doesn't have personal reasons to completely master Occlumency (Dumbledore, Snape), has a vested academic interest in anything (Aenor and, again, arguably Dumbledore), pursues the Mind Arts because of traditions (Arcturus), or needs them as a specialist and professional (Obliviators, special Aurors, Unspeakables)._

 _tl;dr: there are probably less than fifty people in Magical Britain who, if Harry were a Journeyman of Occlumency, would still be his better._


	28. VoD: Key

**Key**

* * *

Harry stared numbly at the tapestry of the House of Black. Every so often, his eyes sought the last entry of the main family branch – his own. In the past, it had always served to amuse him that he was the only living person to be featured twice on the ancient family tree, the only other recent person being pitiable Walburga Black, who had been forced to marry her second cousin out of necessity. With the Blacks vanishing from the face of the earth after the whole Grindelwald disaster, there had been literally no other option that wouldn't have endangered the integrity of any of their hidden branches.

For a second, his eyes lingered on a very specific name that was featured on the tapestry at about his own height. He felt slightly nauseous.

He truly understood the necessity of that particular time-proven custom, now more so than ever before, but that didn't help alleviate the bad taste it left in his mouth. He'd met most of them at one point or another, and none had struck him as particularly unhappy, but he couldn't help but wonder if some of them weren't secretly wrought up. They were family, true, but there was also no denying the point that they were, to some extent, servants of the main branch. Slaves, some might claim, not totally without reason.

'Should've known you'd be hiding in here.'

Harry turned his head just enough to spot his aunt leaning against the frame, her expression unaccustomedly pensive. He didn't answer.

When Bellatrix realised that Harry wasn't in the mood for idle chatter, she slowly approached, staring at the wall in front of Harry. 'I wish I could see it,' she mumbled longingly. 'Where am I?'

Harry wordlessly pointed towards the entry labelled 'Bellatrix Lestrange', and his aunt softly caressed the wall roughly where he'd pointed at, missing her name only by an inch.

'I knew it was a mistake to let you go see the Mudblood,' she said eventually. 'Why did you even bother trying to explain?'

'She is rather smart and not yet predisposed to hate us.'

Bellatrix scoffed dismissively. 'She's still just a little Mudb-'

'And I'm just a little half-blood,' Harry calmly interrupted his aunt.

'Don't say that! It's different!' Bellatrix growled, annoyed.

'How so?' Harry resumed his inspection of the tapestry, though his eyes failed to take anything in, not that he didn't know the whole thing by heart for at least five centuries in any case.

'You've grown up in the real world, and you know our customs, our traditions. You were still of Black descent even before your adoption!'

'So, what if I took in a Muggle-born baby and raised it in the old way? How would it be different from any pure-blood?'

His aunt growled again. 'Don't test me, Harry! Blood is blood.' After a while, she said, 'How about we forget this nonsense and get back to doing something tangible? You still haven't managed to learn any of the curses I showed you.'

'Maybe later,' he replied without any enthusiasm.

Bellatrix sighed and patted his head twice, turning around to leave. 'Did you really kill the Ministry owl?' she asked when she'd reached the door.

'I did,' Harry answered lackadaisically.

Bellatrix cackled with glee. 'Well, try to cheer up. I'll leave you alone for today, but we will resume your training tomorrow. What I actually wanted to tell you was that Arcturus has returned. He's currently at the Ministry, sorting out the mess you brought about. I expect him to return either tonight or tomorrow.'

Harry nodded apathetically.

'Well, I'll see you tomorrow.'

He heard her opening the door. 'Auntie?' he croaked after a second of hesitation.

'Yes?' she answered immediately, turning around to face him once more.

'Would you, if Arcturus asked it of you, offer yourself and your children up for The Oath?'

Bellatrix blinked once, but her response still seemed to come at the speed of light. 'I would.'

'Why?'

'I was born a Black. Even if I had to take on the name of my husband, nobody can take that from me. But my children are different. I know you treat them as cousins, and maybe even your children will consider my grandchildren family. But for how long? The Oath would be the only means to ensure that they'll remain Blacks in all but name.'

'But the terms...' he interposed with a look of worry.

'Wouldn't force me to do anything I wasn't willing to do voluntarily in the first place,' she stated firmly. 'You're making this needlessly complicated. They're family, aren't they?'

'They are.'

'Then what's your problem? As head of the family, Arcturus could order you or me around, just the same. They should be glad to belong!'

Harry mulled over her words long after she'd gone. It wasn't long until, seeking comfort, his eyes sought the tapestry once again, the gears of his mind ever grinding.

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry carefully aimed his wand at the puppet and concentrated with all his might on the incantation – but nothing happened. Frustrated, he gave his wand a shake.

'How can you fail with a simple _Piercing Curse_ but manage to successfully create a Portkey on your first try, despite only knowing the theory?' Bellatrix asked with a sneer. 'Most fully qualified wizards need months to get it done, and you just whip out your wand and do it. This curse is child's play in comparison. Try it again, just like this!' She slashed her wand with a subtle downwards arc to the left. A dull jet of blue light shot out of her wand, piercing through the abdomen of the horrified puppet and the wall behind it.

Harry, fighting down the urge to retch, copied her movements, aiming at the heart of the screaming non-being. His wand gave a slight jerk, but nothing else happened.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, flicking her wand absent-mindedly to silence the hysterical cries of their target. 'Maybe you should try shouting the spell? Non-verbal doesn't seem to work out with offensive magic for you.'

Harry looked at her as if she'd suggested that he should go back to producing sparks with his wand. Still, deciding that it might be worth a shot, he slashed his wand even more fiercely, forcing as much power and intent behind his actions as he could. ' _Terebro_!'

And that seemed to have done the trick. Harry very nearly cheered, watching the teal ray hit the thing exactly where he'd aimed. At the very least, he told himself, he could put it out of its misery this way. But then, he blinked in confusion; the puppet hadn't slumped down. In fact, it still seemed to scream noiselessly at the top of its enchanted lungs. Furrowing his brow, his eyes sought the point where his curse had made contact. The cheap clothing was torn, but the spell had apparently not even managed to penetrate the outer skin. 'This is truly infuriating.'

'Alright, alright,' his aunt said disappointedly. 'Next on the list, let's see... Ah, yes, a true classic: the _Eye Gouger_.'

'It seems I am interrupting a lesson.' A calm voice from behind caused both Harry and Bellatrix to turn around. Arcturus stood in the doorway, still dressed in his cloak, looking exhausted but nevertheless smiling at both Bellatrix and Harry.

'Lord Black!' Bellatrix screeched in surprise, lowering her head.

Harry, in contrast, ran up to the person he'd missed most during his holidays. 'Grandfather!'

Arcturus gave him a brief, one-armed hug. 'Harry. I'm pleased you're up and about. You've had me worried, I am forced to admit.' He smiled gently at his grandson, his pearlescent eyes giving him a once over. 'Bones was adamant about calling a hearing. Happily, I managed to dissuade her of that notion.'

Harry grimaced. 'I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble,' he mumbled, somewhat embarrassed.

Arcturus nodded once, then his eyes fell on the still bowing Bellatrix. 'Bella, you have my thanks for taking care of Harry these past weeks.'

'It was my pleasure, my lord. And I deeply regret my lapse of judgeme-'

'She's not at fault!' Harry interrupted her. 'I begged her for days to let me go!'

'You were still my responsibility,' his aunt retorted baulkily, still refusing to meet their eyes.

'I could have ordered you to let me go!'

'But you couldn't have ordered me to let you go alone,' his aunt argued insistently.

'Enough!' Arcturus' calm voice cut through their argument effortlessly. 'A regrettable incident, but hardly disconcerting. Bella, I must ask you to leave for now. I have things I wish to discuss with my grandson.'

'By your will,' she replied. Without raising her head, she retreated backwards out of the room, closing the door gingerly and with a reverent expression.

'Let us take a seat, my son, but maybe this is not the right place.' His eyes lingered for a second on the puppets in their cages. 'Let us adjourn to my study.'

Harry nodded, not sorry at all to leave the room behind. In silence, they headed towards the second floor. It was only when they'd closed the door and Harry had sunk into the depths of one of his favourite leather armchairs that he allowed himself to relax a bit. One of their elves had apparently prepared refreshments, and so, receiving his grandfather's affirmative nod, Harry grabbed a bottle of Butterbeer and leant back again.

'How are you, Harry - truly?' Arcturus asked, his eyes piercing. 'I know from the Ministry's reports _where_ you cast the Portkey. An incredible achievement, by the way, that baffled more than a few Aurors reading the report.'

Harry nervously shifted in his seat. Somehow, he never managed to keep his calm when Arcturus' attention was solely focused on him. 'I've been better. I...I'm ashamed to admit that the feelings are still so raw after all this time.'

'Some wounds,' his grandfather replied with a melancholic and empathic little smile, 'take longer than others to heal. Others, I'm afraid, may never truly leave you. They are part of who you are.'

Harry sighed, staring at the Butterbeer in his hands.

'It was foolish to resort to magic while outside, Harry. Not only did you give away your own level of competence, but you also managed to give Madam Bones even more reason to take an interest in your person, and-for once-rightly so, I might add.'

He couldn't bear to look in the eyes of the person he admired most, couldn't stand to see the look of reproof and disappointment, so he lowered his head in shame. 'I'm sorry. I-I kind of lost it,' he admitted in a small voice.

'That much is obvious.' His grandfather didn't raise his voice, but Harry dearly wished he would. Nevertheless, Harry didn't try to break the painful silence; it was, he had no problems admitting, thoroughly deserved.

'Where did you take the girl?' Arcturus asked after a few agonising moments.

'You mean the Aurors didn't figure that out?' Harry asked puzzled. 'Can't they track Portkeys?'

'They are, however, still working on it.'

His grandfather didn't seem likely to elaborate, so Harry answered truthfully, 'To Regulus' old place.'

'Ah.' A shadow of pain flickered across the old man's face. 'I cannot help but notice the great lengths you go to just to make your Muggle-born classmate understand. What is your reasoning?'

'I...I figured I owed it to her, despite my obvious reluctance to reveal that bit of my past. Shortly after the Fawley business, Daphne and even Draco confronted me.'

'What did they say?' Arcturus asked curiously.

'Well, they did, in so many words, call me an idiot.'

'Did they, now?' his grandfather asked with a peculiar expression of slight amusement.

'They accused me of being pig-headed. Daphne, in particular, was extremely displeased with me keeping her in the dark.'

'And do you agree?'

'I...do. I still believe that it was right to keep some things from her, considering how unpleasant her grandmother can be. But I shouldn't have done everything behind her back.'

'Do you remember what I told you last Yule, Harry?'

Harry lowered his head again, blushing a bit. 'You told me not to do everything by myself,' he muttered. 'I think I'll have to work on that a bit more.'

'Indeed. So why did you deem it prudent to let the Granger girl in on that whole sad affair?'

'I did not exactly _choose_ to do so. Tracey must have babbled and encouraged Hermione to ask for knowledge as...recompense for me using her as bait the whole year.'

'And, naturally, you being you, you acquiesced.'

'I thought it was harmless enough. It's not a state secret.' Harry tried to justify his actions, sending his interlocutor a bit of a glare for bringing up his tendency to repay his debts.

His grandfather chuckled. 'I was just asking, Harry; I'm not judging you. But this brings me to the next topic of this conversation. You claimed that the Selwyns were, ultimately, responsible for your difficult standing at Hogwarts?'

'I wouldn't go that far,' Harry responded slowly, carefully weighing his words. 'I doubt they were actually involved in Fawley's plan per se, they're a bit too sharp for that. No, I believe they just encouraged them to be a bit bolder, promising to stand by their side if something went wrong.'

'A promise I notice they failed to uphold,' Arcturus observed placidly.

'I don't doubt their real goal was to weaken both us and the Fawleys publicly, with the additional benefit of embarrassing the Ministry and Dumbledore.'

Arcturus nodded contemplatively. 'That does seem like their style. I will ponder their involvement. I understand the younger brother is in your year?'

'Yes, but we haven't exchanged more than a passing greeting. He seems reluctant to socialise. In my opinion, the older brother advised him to keep his head down. Marceus, on the other hand, seems like a worthy candidate for succession: shrewd, calculating, cold, confident and competent.'

'It will still be years and years until he becomes Head, but any information might still prove useful later on. Anything else you can tell me about him?'

'Not really,' Harry admitted. 'I've confronted him only that one time to make sure. The only other remarkable observation was his tendency to boast. At the time, he still could have plausibly denied any involvement, yet he chose to brag. Not in a way that would implicate him, true, but it still might be a weakness. Extensive pride or carelessness, both are hardly qualities to look for in the leader of a family.'

'Some might be inclined to call it bold and headstrong,' his grandfather argued with a smirk.

'Which is exactly why Bellatrix, despite her obvious qualities, would never make a good regent,' Harry said dismissively.

Arcturus chuckled softly. 'Well, I'd have to agree with you there. Do you expect more trouble from that end?'

'Not right now. They wouldn't want to draw too much attention to their efforts to eclipse us.' Arcturus nodded silently, grabbing a bit of parchment and making a few notes. Eventually, Harry asked in a fit of daringness, 'Why have you allowed their family to become so powerful, Grandfather?'

'They're useful,' the man admitted with another smile. 'While our influence on the Wizengamot is at an all-time low, you surely realise that it is virtually impossible for it to decline any further. And we still have many assets our enemies can only speculate about. Meanwhile, the Selwyns keep Crouch and the Pillars on their toes, Dumbledore as well. In contrast to our over-ambitious friends, I don't seek to steer our family into a prominent spot just to satisfy a craving for attention. As we cannot possibly lose, why struggle at all? You might argue that we have everything to gain, but the price, effort and manpower necessary would be considerable. While Selwyn and the gentlemen from the Ministry squabble and fight over insignificant advantages, I make use of the time to gain allies in other countries, amass human and monetary assets alike, perfectly satisfied to watch them at each other's throats. No, as long as the Selwyns don't concern themselves with us directly, I see little reason to interfere.'

'And you believe the Selwyns, realising by now that we don't plan to involve ourselves, will refrain from angering us to avoid getting between the fronts?'

'Exactly.' Arcturus rewarded him with a pleased smile. 'Tell me, Ernest is in your year, is he not? What is your impression of him?'

'Macmillan?' Harry grimaced, but there was no way to soften the blow. 'I think he's a bit of an idiot,' he stated bluntly, taking note of his grandfather's obvious disappointment.

'A pity,' the man said softly. 'Melania would have been disappointed, too. Well, I cannot be expected to watch over her family as well, I'm afraid.'

'What was she like?' Harry asked, suddenly realising that he'd never asked about the woman his grandfather had married.

'Melania?' Arcturus chuckled again. 'Fiery, headstrong, proud and as mean as a bludger.'

'Still, you seem to have held her in high esteem, given that you're still interested in her family,' Harry argued, watching him interestedly.

Arcturus lowered his quill. 'I've never met a more infuriating person in my entire life. She was constantly second-guessing my decisions, always on the lookout for weakness, never passing up any opportunity to point out my flaws.' Harry waited patiently. After a while, Arcturus seemed to emerge from his reverie. 'I loved her,' he admitted with a sentimental smile. 'And I am grateful.'

Harry, not sure how to respond, took another sip to bridge the awkward silence.

'Tell me about your progress regarding Occlumency,' his grandfather said after a while, his head bent over another letter he was composing.

'I think I'm doing well enough for now. I've dedicated most of my free time at Hogwarts to it at this point.' Arcturus' quill ceaselessly ran across the parchment in front of him, while the man only gave a short nod of approval. 'Oh, and Aenor had me do another test of hers,' he added after a while, shuddering involuntarily at the memory.

'Ah, indeed. I seem to recall Bellatrix and Narcissa mentioning something along those lines. What kind of test did Miss Rose have you sit through?' Arcturus inquired without looking up.

'She called it something needlessly dramatic like "The Harrowing" or something.'

There was the sound of parchment ripping. Inch by inch, Arcturus raised his head to look at him, his face devoid of any expression. 'Would you be so kind as to repeat that, Harry?'

Feeling slightly nervous, Harry cleared his throat. 'The Harrowing,' he cawed. 'There was...a chair,' he explained hesitantly, not all too eager the relive the experience. 'A-And...and the room was filled wi-'

With a wave of his hand, Arcturus gestured for him to stop. 'I know of what you speak,' he said over the sound of a snap, and Harry was startled to realise that his grandfather had broken his quill in anger. 'When?' he demanded.

'About a week ago,' Harry answered meekly.

Arcturus gazed at him, and Harry could easily spot the rage bubbling beneath the surface. 'It seems I will need to have words with Miss Rose again.'

'I, well, I agree it was pretty bad,' Harry said, overcome with the inexplicable urge to defend the person in question. 'But she's told me about that test half the year. And I did make it through, didn't I?'

'Did she tell you at least about the dangers you faced during your trial?' Arcturus asked with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

'She did. Also, Narcissa apparently made her swear an Unbreakable Vow. Her left hand looked dead even before the test, so I figured she must have believed me to be able to prevail.'

Arcturus narrowed his eyes. 'Even so, that is not for her to decide. This also begs the question why she would bet her own life. I am...reasonably sure she holds no real loyalty to anything but herself, so this doesn't feel like something I should ignore.'

Arcturus grabbed a new sheet of parchment and quill both, making a few hasty notes. 'How did you feel immediately afterwards? Leave nothing out, this is important, Harry!'

Harry leant back again, finally daring to breathe. 'I felt...normal.'

'You didn't feel disproportionately susceptible to anger or fear?' his grandfather asked sharply, briefly looking up and silently warning him to answer honestly.

'Nothing of the sort,' Harry replied with a shake of his head.

Arcturus sighed, putting down his quill and covering his eyes with his hand. 'If that is the case, you might have been lucky. Do you remember anything of your, well, tribulations?'

Harry looked at the bottle in his hands. His throat felt like one big lump refusing to obey his will. 'Potter Manor,' he eventually replied in a low voice.

His grandfather sighed again, looking at him as if he was searching for signs of hidden diseases. 'I see. I assume this is why you've been so reclusive, as Bellatrix called it?'

Harry gave a non-committal answer and shrugged.

'Did Miss Rose talk to you after you...emerged again?'

'No, she patched me up to the best of her abilities and delivered me back the very next day. Some business on the continent, or so she claimed.'

'I see.' Arcturus fixed him in a long and ponderous gaze. 'It seems we need to have a talk about Occlumency, then. I don't pretend to be an expert, but there still might be some theoretical background that we failed to explain to you thus far. You are aware, of course, that the vast majority of traditional families teach their descendants a very basic understanding of this fine art?'

'But that is, truthfully speaking, little more than a character-building exercise, isn't it? Those drills are meant to temper the mind, not to resist mental intrusions.'

'Quite,' his grandfather agreed. 'Still, the pursuit of an occluded mind is very much a traditional quest of sorts. It is not quite as prominent nowadays, especially with Crouch vilifying the whole field of magic as unethical. During my time, it was still a very popular choice, especially because of the great advantages a wizard learned in these matters has over those who remain ignorant.'

'I am aware of that,' said Harry, as deferential as possible.

'Very well. Then you will have to agree that, depending on the person in question's character, being able to bridle your most extreme states of emotion might prove to be beyond price.'

'I suppose,' Harry replied cautiously.

'I assume Miss Rose talked to you about the theory behind the Harrowing, at least?'

'She did.'

'Then, do you realise that this test was _specifically engineered_ for people who are being...held back by the terrors of their past?'

Harry furrowed his brow. 'But she said that fighting against fear, as the rawest and most overwhelming emotion, was of general benefit to those who aimed to master their mind without suppressing their emotions completely!'

'I'm sure she did, but that is not exactly the truth.' Raising his hand to forestall the objection, he carried on, 'Neither is it completely wrong. You have to understand, Harry, that this test was once created as the last, ultimate, most extreme and deadly measure to help people overcome their personal trauma. Do you understand now?'

'B-but she said-'

'Irrelevant! Listen to me, Harry! Do you honestly believe there is just one approach to mastering your mind? Do you really believe I would have wanted you to get tormented by a pack of Dementors with your sanity on the line?' Arcturus demanded harshly.

'N-no,' Harry admitted eventually.

'And that is because there are as many paths as there are goals to Occlumency. Miss Rose chose an extremely dangerous, inconsistent and reckless method to teach you something that a regular student needs months, if not years, to master. Now, considering all this, do you still think nothing's changed after the test? Specifically in your behaviour?'

Harry furiously thought back on the last few weeks, paying particular attention to all instances of what might be considered uncharacteristic behaviour. Then, he blinked, surprised. 'I-I didn't, you know, flinch when Hermione tried to comfort me with a hug.'

His grandfather nodded curtly. 'Anything else?'

'I suppose, looking back, it's a bit out of character for me to use magic illegally and kill a Ministry owl,' he admitted with a sheepish grin.

Arcturus just stared back at him, but Harry had the distinct impression that the man was, with all his might, trying not to roll his eyes. 'Indeed,' he said neutrally. 'There are, as Miss Rose might have explained, really two main philosophies to Occlumency, but there are as many ways of teaching them as there are stars in the sky. I'm at least glad that the both of you had enough sense not to dabble in the second sort. But,' he said, raising his finger to stress the point, 'what she might have...forgotten to explain is that playing with your emotions might be equally dangerous as it is to ignore them altogether.'

'Well, she did say something like this path being a "lifelong quest to seek balance".'

'An understatement if ever I've heard one. But now, at least, you realise the problem, don't you? While you might, in theory, have the ability to retain control and even to hide your thoughts behind genuine displays of emotion, you mustn't allow your heightened instincts to run away with you.'

Harry scowled, feeling cheated. Back when Aenor had explained the whole issue to him, it had all seemed so clear. Now, it looked as if the matter had only gotten more complicated than before. 'How does Occlumency even help me, then?' he asked angrily.

'Because, Harry,' Arcturus said with a little smile of encouragement, 'it's still a battle that you can ultimately win. Cutting down your emotions, contrariwise, spells irreversible defeat. Also, as you've already described, it might be of some use regarding your...problem. Just keep in mind that you seek to master your emotions, not to undo them.'

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. 'I understand,' he said weakly.

'Then, let us speak no more of it. It's been a long day for me; how about we discuss what still bears further talking through tomorrow?'

'Of course, Grandfather.' Harry immediately rose from his seat, bowing his head slightly.

'Harry?' Arcturus called again, as he was wont to do.

'Yes, Grandfather?'

'It's good to have you back.'

Harry's smile seemed to emblaze the whole room, effortlessly triumphing over dark tidings and past tragedies. 'It's good to be back.'

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry sat in front of the tapestry, his hands folded, his wand lying loosely in his lap and his expression tranquil, soaking up the pictures of those that connected him to centuries past.

In these moments, he couldn't be happier. He gazed for hours at his ancestors, devouring the connections they shared just as eagerly as a lost wanderer in a desert might an overflowing, chilled waterskin. An observer might have labelled his suppliant devotion almost indecent.

'I've never seen a boy so immersed in the family tree, Harry. I don't mind telling you that my own grandfather would likely have shed a well-hidden tear at the thought of me doing the same.'

Harry smiled as he made to stand up to greet the Head of his family properly, but Arcturus, chuckling softly, instead sat down beside him, studying the tapestry with a small smile of his own.

After a few minutes of silent worshipping, Arcturus raised his voice. 'What is your first thought when you gaze upon our forebears.'

'Privilege,' Harry instantly replied. His grandfather raised a quizzical eyebrow, so he elaborated. 'I don't mean the money, Grandfather. It's more...the honour of knowing that I stand in the same line with them. Hundreds of witches and wizards, many great minds. And all of them were united in the conviction that this family was something to be sheltered, protected and nourished.'

Arcturus hummed his consent. 'Though you don't mind the gold either if it serves its purpose to enrich our library, or so I have been told,' he added in a light tone.

'Cranky is such a telltale,' Harry grumbled unhappily.

'I did advise you to call him a few times at Hogwarts. I'm afraid he feels neglected,' replied his grandfather with amusement. 'If you don't want him to entertain your friends at Hogwarts with embarrassing childhood stories, I'd consider making good on your promise.'

Harry squinched up his face, imagining Cranky telling on him to Tracey and, Merlin forbid, Draco. 'I'll most definitely keep that in mind,' he said with germane decisiveness.

Arcturus chuckled softly. They shared another peaceful moment of silence before his grandfather spoke up again. 'Harry, I have to ask; why did you forbid the Fawley girl to meddle with the Greengrass family? You are, of course, aware that would have been playing exactly into our hand, are you not?'

'I made it so that only the daughter took the blame,' he argued, trying to keep his cool. 'It won't influence their family's general decision, will it? Terese won't even be eligible to-'

'An uncharacteristically naïve statement by your standards, Harry,' his grandfather interrupted him, his eyes unmoving. 'Surely, you realise that the Head of the Fawley household will have understood that someone must have meddled with their plans at school? Even if you managed to make the contract relatively iron-clad, that doesn't change that it's fairly obvious that someone in a position of power disrupted their little project.'

Harry swallowed his first response, choosing to not give in to the urge to give a scathing reply. 'Daphne will never suffer her grandmother trying to sever the tie between herself and me.'

'But you don't help the matter either, passively encouraging your cousin to rebel against her family,' Arcturus stated calmly.

Harry snapped his head around, narrowing his eyes. 'With all due respect, Grandfather, I did all that precisely _because_ Daphne is family. I won't compromise! You imply I acted against the family's wishes; I say it was the only way I saw to protect it! With regard to that, I couldn't care less about what Madame Greengrass wishes to happen.'

Arcturus stared at him, humming thoughtfully. 'I see. If you phrase it like that, I'll have to withdraw my objections for the time being. Still, I urge you to be a bit more careful with your political dealings.'

Harry relaxed a bit, nodding. 'I will.' After a while, he added, 'I'm sorry if this has caused inconvenience on your part.'

Arcturus inclined his head. 'Well, long-term plans are to be expected to experience difficulties. I seem to recall your cousin insisting on your attendance for her birthday this year?'

Harry sighed, rubbing his temple. 'Oh yes, and how she insisted.'

Arcturus chuckled again. 'I have no doubt that Esmerelle will corner you at some point. Just try to keep your wits about you and, if at all possible, try to propose a grudging compromise. We are, in contrast to what she believes, of course perfectly willing to have the Greengrass family distance itself from us publicly. As "compensation", try to push for her to leave her grandchildren alone at Hogwarts. If you play it smartly, you'll be able to further our plans regarding her family, keep your cousin happy and still make that hag think she came out on top.'

'You're devious, Grandfather,' Harry said with a grin.

'It comes with being old,' the man responded with a small wink. 'One benefit of advanced age is that you've grown to know and love all the little ways to mess with people's heads. Speaking of which, maybe you can use the occasion to test the waters regarding Occlumency, too; you might find approaching women a bit easier if you manage to keep your concentration, though I advise you not to overdo it.'

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his head. 'Well, maybe I'll be giving it a shot.'

'It's no use pretending everything's fine, Harry, trust me. While we're still on topic, have you noticed anything peculiar regarding your sleeping habits?'

Harry blinked. 'Come again?'

'It is possible,' his grandfather elaborated calmly, 'that your sleep or dreams are being affected by your rather well-developed Occlumency. I'm sure I don't need to discuss the disadvantages of emptying your mind before you settle for the night?'

'No. I...I haven't had a nightmare about Nott for a few weeks now, thank Merlin.'

'Excellent. But you might also find that your dreams become slightly more...lucid. Not true lucid dreaming, but scenes that might not have been clear in the past could well start to fall into place.'

Harry had to mull over that one for a second. 'You mean,' he said slowly, his heart skipping a beat, 'that I could possibly glimpse information from events of the past?'

Arcturus nodded, his eyes never leaving Harry's.

'Do you think it's possible that I'll unearth who killed the Potters? Or,' he clenched his suddenly rather sweaty fists, 'who the fuck did _that_ to me?'

And again, Arcturus nodded, apparently willing to overlook his crude speech for once. 'I did not want to tell you beforehand because only particularly successful Occlumens manage to decipher their own childhood traumata. But, given your recent accomplishments, I'm no longer hesitant to reveal this to you. So, yes; it's possible that you will end up learning who murdered the Potters, or even what happened to instil that fear of women in you. If so, it will happen over time. Exercise yourself in the discipline of your mind, then we'll see what happens.'

After a while, the old man added in a sombre tone, 'You have truly come a long way, Harry. When you were smaller, Sirius and I discussed letting a Mindhealer attempt to ease your burdens, but, ultimately, we decided that the risks were too great. I told Sirius that if you had even a pint of your father's or grandmother's blood in you, you'd defeat your nightmares the old-fashioned way – in time. I'm truly glad that I wasn't wrong.'

Harry looked away, not willing to let the emotions overcome him. 'It was Regulus who told me to confront my fears. He said that it was the only way to triumph and that hiding would mean that my tormentors won. That's why I tried so hard back then, no matter how much it hurt.'

'Well, even if you end up never learning what exactly happened, I don't doubt for a single second that Regulus would be proud of how far you've come. And so would Sirius, his eccentricity notwithstanding.'

Harry nodded abstractedly. 'But even so,' he said with a grim look and a snarl, 'I shall have _words_ with those disgusting pigs that did this to me!'

His grandfather regarded him impassively. 'If it will ever come to that, you have my promise that I will not stand in your way.'

They shared a small interlude of angry silence before Arcturus cast another long look at the tapestry. 'It is fortunate I found you here. There is one last thing I wanted to caution you about.'

'What is it?' It took a lot of effort on Harry's part to bury the burning anger that stemmed from shame, but he did his best.

'I gather you managed to utilise young Miss Fawley's commitment to her family as leverage to force her to accept your terms. You mentioned her memories. How exactly did that come to pass, Harry?'

'Well, I modified the standard _Memory Charm_ to accommodate the task.'

Arcturus, to Harry's astonishment, winced, looking at him as if the answer had physically hurt. 'Impressive,' he said reluctantly. 'Why go about it this way, though?'

Harry sighed. 'I've had a look at spells that target memories, and they are seriously complicated. I'm sure I could make an attempt, yet the chance to mess up was definitely not zero. It's comparably easy to erase the last few minutes, but to precisely target a very specific point is almost impossible without knowledge of Legilimency. Trying to rid a person of connected memories is absolutely not feasible for me at this point. So, to compensate, I chose to modify the spell rather than work on my limited abilities. The spell I used will only really function in similar situations and only with that one goal in mind, not to mention that it's rather impractical to continuously modify it. It was just an...auxiliary means, really.'

'You, I am convinced, are the only soon-to-be fifteen-year-old boy to even consider modifying a spell as an "auxiliary means",' commented Arcturus with some superficial mirth. 'How long did it take you?'

Harry shrugged. 'The Memory Charm itself is easy enough to learn; that didn't even take me an hour. That, however, doesn't mean much, as I can hardly use the spell at all. Well, except removing the last few minutes of someone's recollections. Modifying it to suit my needs took about a week, but the incantation ended up being half a scroll of parchment long. I have to admit, I have some newfound respect for Obliviators.'

'Then it is as I suspected.' Arcturus sighed, his eyes darting towards a part of the tapestry that depicted witches and wizards about one century departed. 'I want to tell you a story, Harry.'

'Er, am I not a bit too old for that?' Harry asked with a fleeting smile.

'Not for this kind of story. I had hoped, in fact, that you still might be a bit too young for these lessons.' Arcturus waited until he saw his grandson nodding in understanding. Then, he turned his chair around so that he could look at him without craning his neck. 'Have you ever obliviated someone, with the exception of meddling with young Fawley's memory?'

Harry stopped breathing. 'Once,' he admitted in a small voice, not eager to elaborate further.

Arcturus nodded grimly. 'The temptations of magic,' he said mysteriously. 'There once was a family member of ours who had a distinct knack for theoretical application of magic, not unlike you, in fact. From a young age, she showed her brilliance, outperforming both schoolmates and, later, co-workers. She wasn't from the main branch, though, and eventually, she was ordered to find a solution for a problem the family had run into.

'You see, at the time, the family had a valid marriage contract with another family of note. The contracted party on our side, however, let passion get in the way of reason. Rising to the occasion, the young Miss Black improved upon the Memory Charm, just like you, if-admittedly-a bit more thoroughly so. And what a thing of beauty her finished product was; virtually undetectable, deviously painstaking, devilishly tricky to dispel, self-improving and, after a short time of incubation, absolutely permanent with no chance of recovery at all.

'Self-improving?' Harry asked, astounded. 'How does that work? Changing other memories to fill the gap?'

'Most likely. It affected all senses, leaving behind perfectly forged memories. Not even an inspection of the faux memories in a Pensieve could determine anything suspicious. It was, as I have said, a thing of beauty.'

'Why haven't I heard of it before?' Harry asked quizzically.

'You wouldn't,' Arcturus explained patiently, 'because the spell was deemed dangerous.' He raised his wand, pointing it at the tapestry. Harry looked up and saw the name Cygnus Black I lighting up. 'The Head of House Black at the time forbade her to instruct another person in the spell and ordered all notes of its invention destroyed.'

Harry blinked. 'A _Black_ wanted to keep a spell secret?'

Arcturus nodded. 'Most unusual, I agree. But you have to consider that times were different. Back then, we weren't the only family vocal about the freedom of magic. In fact, it wasn't even something to fight for, since it was a generally accepted foundation of society. Now, our position is much more isolated, and as a result, our beliefs have become somewhat more extreme. It is good to keep everything in perspective.

'Anyway, just as our young heroine completed her experiments, the situation escalated. The bride-to-be stumbled upon the pair of unfaithful lovers. Wands were drawn. The other girl, a young Carrow, died.

'Cygnus Black, not willing to risk political fallout, criminal charges or revenge from the contracted party _or_ the Carrows, ordered our young Charmsmaster to cast the spell on the engaged couple, while he himself dealt with the unfortunate incident in a discreet fashion.'

'He let her cast the spell on a family member?' Harry asked, aghast.

'He did. It was both a punishment for the young man as well as a means to ensure that he'd never slip up. As I said, not illogical, yet perhaps slightly paranoid. Cygnus was also, I feel obligated to admit, not the most forgiving of Blacks. My grandfather told me quite a few stories about him in that regard. I'm sure he'll indulge you, too, if you ask nicely.'

Harry nodded, making mental note to question the portrait of the moody headmaster at some point.

'Speaking of being thorough; while the young couple eventually married, never believing themselves to be involved in the scandalous disappearance of the young Carrow girl, her family was obviously extremely distressed. They knew, of course, that their daughter had an amorous adventure on the side, though she had, luckily enough, not confided in them with whom exactly.

'Nevertheless, sensing a connection, the Carrows began asking questions. Barmaids, pub owners, street vendors; sooner or later, someone was bound to have seen something, and they had enough money to throw around that the person in question would likely babble.

'Cygnus, therefore, ordered them dealt with, too.'

Harry looked at his grandfather apprehensively. 'That couldn't have ended well.'

'Well, it was difficult, but the girl was remarkable. It took her a while, and, as far as we know, there were some close shaves, but eventually, she managed to cast the charm on every listed member of the Carrow family.'

'That doesn't sound like the end of the story,' Harry commented dryly.

'Indeed. You see, while the immediate problem seemed to have been dealt with, soon co-workers, friends of the family and even acquaintances couldn't help noticing that some members of the Carrow household seemed to behave oddly during talks about recent events. Even if the spell was, technically, almost perfect, it was never meant to be used on so many people. Their artificial memories didn't overlap, there were small incongruities. Eventually, the Ministry took an interest, correctly interpreting the events as a case of mass removal of memory. Soon, the Auror Office, later even the Unspeakables were drawn to the case, looking into people of note who might have had reason to research a new Memory Charm.'

'And Cygnus?' Harry asked reluctantly, almost dreading the answer.

Arcturus smiled grimly. 'Naturally, he ordered his little helper to cast the charm on any person of her past who might be able to make the connection between the spell and the exceedingly bright young witch.

'It speaks highly of her that she was, apparently, willing to do that. But soon enough, it became even more obvious that you couldn't make all of Magical Britain forget quite so easily. Realising that she was fighting a war against time and an insurmountable enemy, the young witch did the only thing she could think of that would protect her family.'

'She cast the spell on them, didn't she?' Harry whispered with bated breath.

'Indeed. But she knew it wouldn't work like that. She wasn't of the main-branch, so she had no knowledge about our hidden roots. Also, in contrast to Cygnus, she was willing to see that you could never erase all the evidence by simply casting the spell on as many individuals as it was feasible. And so, she sat down and fixed the one gaping flaw in her spell; she made it so that she could target not only one person, but a whole host of people, and,' Arcturus said with sorrow, 'though there is a lot of speculation involved at this point, apparently substances.'

'Air?' Harry guessed dejectedly. 'Or water, perhaps. I didn't know you could do that on a large scale without resorting to potions.'

'Neither did I, but, or so we have to conclude, she succeeded. Of course, targeting the environment meant that she herself would also end up being a victim of her own spellwork. It isn't difficult to imagine that she must have been proud of what she was about to do: stifling a war in its making, saving enemies and family alike. But how do you think it felt to realise that her actions would effectively remove her from every other person she'd ever known. Nobody would ever remember her. She would be dead, even to herself.

'You can have a look at the records of the Ministry. Exactly three days after the Auror Office started their official investigation, the whole issue was suddenly dropped. The report concludes that the incident must stem from a failed potions experiment, as no evidence of someone missing memories could be determined from that point forward. Have a look at our archive of the _Daily Prophet_ some time. One day, the paper riles the public, warning of some unknown witch or wizard obliviating the masses, only to apologise on the very next day, meekly admitting it to have been a false report. It is...eerie.'

'B-but the family records, she can't possibly have altered them all! What about the tapestry?'

Arcturus shook his head sadly. 'Everything is gone. Nobody was even aware of her existence after that. We later speculated that she must have laced the spell with compulsions. Or maybe she forced Cygnus to remove all traces of her. She was, as I have hinted from the beginning, a commendable prodigy.'

'How do we even know of her existence, then?' Harry asked, unpersuaded.

'And thus,' Arcturus said with a small smile, 'we finally come to the morale of the story. Nothing is really ever perfect, Harry. Even though nobody ever managed to break free of her spell, there _still_ was something she could apparently not overcome. Though their parents remained ignorant until their dying breaths, the children of the next generation soon stumbled over perplexing inconsistencies in the family history. When they confronted their parents with these discoveries, their concerns were waved aside. But strange evidence kept turning up over time. Nothing much, but enough to raise the suspicion of fairly suspicious folk. Thus, the young adults kept digging. Nothing is perfect, Harry. Our actions always ripple through history, no matter how benign our intentions may be.'

'Did they ever find her?' Harry asked in a hushed voice.

Arcturus silently pointed towards a small bud in the row directly underneath Cygnus that Harry had always assumed to be decoration. 'Tap it with your wand.'

He did so. The bud burst open, revealing a single name: Lethe. Not Lethe Black – just Lethe.

'They found her then?'

Arcturus answered with a sad smile, 'More or less. The descendants of those she cast the charms on were unaffected by her magic, and after 40 years of gathering all the clues, they managed to piece the evidence together. They found her on her deathbed in a small village in Estonia. She didn't know who she really was, of course, but there still could be little doubt: black curly hair, big grey eyes. My grandsire always told me she looked remarkably like our very own Bellatrix. They didn't approach her, though. They had enough experience with the spell by now to realise the futility of such an attempt. Instead, they simply watched over her as best as they could for the last days of her undeservedly tragic life.'

Harry looked down at the wand in his lap. He wanted nothing more than to curse the short-sightedness of Cygnus the first, only respect for the dead and family held him back.

'Harry, I want you to promise me to be careful with Memory Charms. They are not infallible, and you might be forced to do things you might rather not to cover up for them. I will never forbid you from using any kind of magic, and you know this. But please, I urge you to be extremely cautious with that one. I confess I'm actually more at ease with the kind of spells your aunt is likely trying to teach you than those manipulating the human mind at such a deep level.'

Harry and Arcturus exchanged a long look.

'I promise I shall be careful,' swore Harry, not quite willing to forgo this branch of magic altogether, despite the warning. At least now he understood why his grandfather had been on edge; him modifying the spell must have awoken unsettling flashbacks.

Arcturus sighed, standing up and gripping his shoulder. 'Please do.'

 _~BLVoD~_

'You're overdoing it again, Daphy!' grouched Tracey, who stood next to Daphne and her giant mirror. 'Look, I've been real patient, but enough is enough already! Pick an outfit within the next five minutes. Your guests will be here in twenty!'

Daphne looked at her mirror image critically. 'You're not helping it! The more _useful_ comments you make, the faster I'm going to be finished. What do you think? Teal or no teal?'

Out of the corner of her eye, Daphne spotted Tracey drawing a few calming breaths. 'Didn't we go over that back when you despaired of that teal dress about _four hours ago_?' She stressed the last few words exasperatedly.

'Not really?' Daphne disagreed somewhat indecisively. 'How can you even compare a formal gown to this rather casual one piece? I mean, the skirt doesn't even cover my knees!'

Tracey rolled her eyes again. 'So what? You've seen what some of the Muggle-borns wear at Hogwarts, right?'

Daphne considered that comment for a while. 'A good point. Think we might still be able to get one of those mini-things before the party starts?'

'Daphne!' Tracey snapped, irritated.

'Okay, okay. But maybe I should try on that claret-coloured blouse again?'

That comment caused Tracey to fling herself onto Daphne's bed, where she buried her face in the pillow, groaning in frustration. 'What's going on? You were always a bit snotty about your clothes, but this is just painful!'

Daphne flicked out her tongue in annoyance, glaring at her best friend. 'Nothing is "going on" at all. And I'll keep your comment about me being snotty in mind next time you want to borrow some dress from me or Astoria again.'

In the mirror, Daphne could see that had Tracey turned her small head just enough to stick her tongue out at her. 'Remind me to never come over early again while you get ready for a party. But what's gotten into you? You weren't like this when we were getting ready for the Black Ball.'

'That's because I had Astoria help before you came over, obviously!'

'Poor thing. How long did that take, then?'

Daphne was about to answer, but then she thought better of it.

'What was that?' Tracey asked again insistently.

'Just two days!' Noticing the look on her best friend, she felt obliged to add, 'But we took so many breaks since my sister kept losing her concentration for no reason; so, it was more like one day, really. Maybe one and a half.'

Tracey, still lounging around on the bed, gave her a disbelieving look. Then, she sat up from one moment to the next, a look of comprehension on her face. 'Aha!'

'What?' demanded Daphne, crossing her arms defensively.

'You're dressing up to the nines because of Harry!' she declared with a wiggle of her eyebrows and a truly insufferable grin.

'So what if I am?' Daphne retorted with a bit of a blush. 'It's not like he notices anyway,' she added as an afterthought, taking a seat on the bed as well, feeling slightly mopey at the thought of her wasted efforts last Yule.

Tracey crawled over to her and patted her back. 'Well, that was in the past, right? He can hardly ignore you at your own birthday, can he?'

Daphne shrugged, unconvinced. 'Last time, he didn't even spare me a glance. No, it was always Rose this, Rose that. She didn't even look _that_ good, to begin with. I don't know what all the fuss is about, really. It's not like she's drop-dead gorgeous, or something,' she muttered angrily.

'Thank Merlin, it just so happens that this is your party, so I think it's highly unlikely that slapper will unexpectedly turn up.' Tracey seemed rather upbeat all of a sudden, as if the thought of her proclaimed (one-sided) nemesis not appearing was a great source of inner strength. 'So, you want to dance with Harry and catch his attention, is that it?'

'Well,' said Daphne, playing with the hem of her skirt, 'I guess so.'

Her best friend sighed dramatically. 'Why didn't you just say so?'

'Because you always misunderstand and keep asking annoying questions!'

'You want to go out with him or something?' Tracey asked businesslike.

'Exactly that kind of question,' huffed Daphne, turning away.

But Tracey was not to be deterred. 'That a yes?'

'What? No! Of course not! I mean...no! It's not like that, it's...' Confused and not sure what to say, Daphne stood up again. 'I don't know.'

Tracey silently watched her nervous fidgeting for a few moments. 'Well, Harry always wears those really conservative robes in subdued colours. So why don't you pick something that'll go well with those and is still relatively easy to dance in?'

Daphne turned around, rewarding her loyal friend with beaming smile. 'Thanks!'

'And if it's a bit low-cut...Well, no harm done, am I right?' her friend remarked with a snigger.

'Tracey!' Daphne growled warningly.

'And you'll please your gran, too, wearing a formal dress. As a bonus, so to speak.'

'I couldn't care less!' Daphne returned loftily. 'Mum said I could wear whatever I felt like.'

Tracey raised her hands, obviously trying to placate her, but Daphne merely rolled her eyes. It's not like she'd complained _that_ often about her grandmother to Tracey. Just a few times at Hogwarts. And, sure, maybe the topic had come up then and again, but that wasn't anything like her complaining constantly. Definitely not!

'Why must you be so standoffish and belligerent?' whined Tracey entreatingly.

'I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about!' purported Daphne, glaring at her defiantly.

'Are you ready yet, Sweetheart?' her mother suddenly called from below. 'Your guests are arriving!'

Daphne, with a look of panic, jumped to the huge pile of discarded clothes, rummaging around. 'Er, that one!' she proclaimed, holding up a ceremonial-looking yet somewhat figure-hugging dress of midnight blue.

Tracey, unsure whether to be cross or happy with this development, eventually settled for a scoff. 'Are you serious? You can't even decide if you want to wear a dress or not for hours, and now you settle for that one just like that?'

Daphne, supremely unconcerned, shrugged, already in the process of changing. 'Come on, help me! I still need you to do my hair.'

'Salazar, save me!' Tracey muttered under her breath.

Ten minutes and a lot of snarky banter later, Daphne calmly descended the stairs with Tracey, still slightly miffed, following her lead. Daphne didn't doubt for a second that her childhood friend would somehow get even with her. Even though Tracey and Harry both could be remarkably level-headed, they were surprisingly childish in that regard. But who was she to point a finger? She knew that she was in the habit of letting her short temper get the better of her. During hours of silent pondering, she'd come to admit that this had once been her way of coping with the past, and now it was just a part of who she was.

Shaking her head, she tried to banish those thoughts. This wasn't the time for morose lamenting – not today. She resisted the urge to pull at the fabric where the dress did not seem to fit, nobly floating down the stairs, making sure to smile at every person she could see.

Beaming appropriately and sharing a bit of small talk where necessary, she calmly received the obligatory congratulations many distant cousins, friends, neighbours or other guests heaped upon her. They were dealt with easily enough and wouldn't linger for long. Others, she seethed inwardly, weren't as easily satisfied.

'There you are, Daphne. Goodness me, I'm glad you didn't choose to wear that horrid burgundy _atrocity_ that you seem to hold in such high regard.'

'Hello, Gran. Do you, by any chance, mean my _claret red_ blouse that Tracey bought for me last year?' she asked with a fierce smile.

'Ah, yes,' the reed-thin old woman said, glancing at Tracey, who returned a meek and self-conscious smile. 'I should have known. Regardless, I'm glad you've come to see reason.'

Daphne just kept smiling sweetly. Her mother had warned her not to make a scene, but that certainly didn't mean that she would take whatever the malicious beldam would throw at her. 'Thank you,' she replied politely with a little curtsy. 'I too must congratulate you on your giant lilac mushroom hat, Gran. It's quite possible I've never seen anything like it.'

In the background, Tracey choked on her drink, hurriedly dashing towards the lavatory to discreetly remove the stains on her simple but rather nice-looking jade green robes.

The old crone watched her friend go with a barely concealed sneer. 'I notice that your choice in company is as...outré as ever,' she remarked delicately with just the barest pretence of civility.

Daphne subtly looked around, making sure nobody was in her immediate vicinity. When she was sure that their privacy was assured, relatively speaking, she turned once more to face the fossil in front of her. 'What do you want?' she hissed coldly, smile still in place just in case somebody was paying attention.

'Don't take that tone with me! Really, child, is this the place to act out your infantile grudge?'

'Well, it is _my_ party, which I was just about to enjoy!'

Esmerelle Greengrass's eyes wandered up and down, scrutinising every inch of her granddaughter. 'You may enjoy your petty little get-together in a mere moment. I have invited a few friends of mine, who all have sons about your age. Respectable families, the lot of them. You will introduce yourself and entertain them as courtesy demands.'

' _You_ invited _your_ bootlickers to _my_ birthday party?' Daphne asked, outraged. 'Fine, you know what? It's your house. But I can't be bothered to parade in front of them like a piece of meat. And I'm warning you, if ever again you try to sell me off again to satisfy your lust for self-importance, there'll be an "accident"!'

'Who do you think you are to presume to warn me, girl! Finish school before you meddle in things you have no clue about.' Her grandmother shook her head, a few strands of her long silvery hair that still retained a bit of red coming loose under her ridiculous choice in headdress. 'I'm doing this for you and the family, you silly little thing. I invited them so you could have a look! Surely, a few of them are to your liking? If they're gallant and polite, love may well come in years to pass.'

'Are we finished?' Daphne snarled, folding her arms and leaning sideways, making it highly obvious just how disinterested she was in continuing this conversation. 'You invited them in, so I'm sure they remember vividly where the nearest exit is.'

The old hag sighed as if _she_ had any right to be disappointed. 'Alright, Daphne, have it your way – for now. Happy birthday!' Without so much as a smile, she stalked off, heading towards a corner where about twenty people Daphne had never laid eyes on before huddled in small groups, not mingling with the rest of the crowd whatsoever.

'She does seem to be getting even more obnoxious as of late,' an amused voice drawled suddenly right next to her. Startled, Daphne took a step back and looked towards her right. A lean and athletic girl about her age wearing simple dark robes leant with her back against the table that was stacked with presents, her prominent grey eyes staring at Esmerelle Greengrass, who returned the look with a grim frown. Her arm was casually outstretched, silently offering Daphne something to drink.

'Amy! I didn't see you there,' Daphne burst out, gratefully taking the offered beverage.

'Of course, you didn't, silly. I wouldn't have been hiding very well otherwise, don't you think?'

It took Daphne's brain a few seconds to readjust to radio Lestrange. 'So you were eavesdropping?'

Amadina Lestrange shrugged casually. 'Hardly anything better to do here. There's still a lot of pinheads about,' she said without lowering her voice, nodding in the direction of her grandmother's crowd. 'Say, did _you_ invite Crouch's cousin?'

'What?' spluttered Daphne. 'I have no idea who you're talking about.'

'Never mind, then. Happy birthday, by the way!' With one hand, Amy offered her a small box wrapped in simple brown paper.

'Oh, yes, thank you.' Daphne inspected the suspiciously inconspicuous little gift. 'What is that?'

'It's from Leo and me both. And aren't you supposed to thank me gracefully and open it with all the others?' Amy teased with a lazy smile.

'Don't give me that rot!'

Amy laughed it off, as Daphne had known she would. 'Be my guest, open it!'

Daphne inspected the little cube, preparing to tear the paper off. But then, she stopped. 'It is, you know, safe to open, right?' she asked cautiously. You couldn't ever be truly sure with Lestranges.

Amy grinned in return. 'It's quite safe. Just stay your wand.'

Nervously, Daphne slowly peeled away the layers of cheap paper. A small and completely cubic dark stone surfaced. 'What is that?' she asked in confusion. The little stone, mineral or whatever it was supposed to be, felt neither warm nor cold, not heavy or light. It didn't whisper softly, its surface was neither polished nor did it look striking in any other way. If Daphne had to praise one aspect of her gift, it was how incredibly _dull_ it was. 'What the hell is this supposed to be?'

Amy grinned at her, taking a strangely small sip from her glass. 'A Portkey.'

'A Portkey?' Daphne repeated charily. 'Where to?'

'The Ministry.'

'You can't make Portkeys leading to any government building,' Daphne contradicted her automatically. 'The Grindewald Legisla-'

'Correction: No non-government worker may create a Portkey leading to any government building.'

Daphne's eyes flickered to the little cube in her hand. 'Are you insane?!' she whispered, looking around anxiously. 'Where did you get that?!'

Amy coolly took another small sip, grinning brazenly. 'Nicked it from my mum, obviously.'

Daphne stared at Amy for a few good seconds before she hastily hid the small cube in the secret pocket of her dress. She cast her gaze around again. Nobody was paying them any attention, of course, but Daphne couldn't help feeling somewhat nervous. It wasn't often you carried something in your pocket that automatically landed you in Azkaban for a few years after all. _How in the name of Gryffindor's soggy pants has Bellatrix Lestrange gotten hold of a restricted Ministry Portkey? Or an even better question: why did the Lestrange siblings think it a good idea to steal that blasted Portkey and give it away as a present?_

Shifting from one foot to the other, Daphne took a sip from the glass Amadina had offered her to soothe her nerves. Whatever it was, and it sure was no pumpkin juice, burned her throat, and brought tears to her eyes. 'What is that?' she managed to utter in-between the coughs.

'I don't know,' admitted Amy with a shrug. 'It's what most of the men are drinking, though I notice they seem to serve it in rather small amounts. I suspect,' she proclaimed, taking another small draught, 'that it's Firewhiskey. Tastes strange, right?'

Daphne grimaced, placing the glass on the table and as far away as possible. 'My mum will have kittens!'

'You're such a party pooper.' Unceremoniously, Amy poured Daphne's Firewhiskey into her own glass. 'Suit yourself!'

'Is Leo here as well?' Daphne asked, desperate for a change in topic.

'Yup. He's over there with the rest of the boys,' she said, pointing towards the sitting area, where-indeed-Leo sat with both Harry, Draco and Tracey, who was just joining them.

'Why didn't they come say hello?' Daphne asked grumpily.

'I was supposed to get you.'

'Why didn't you?!' Daphne snapped half-heartedly.

But Amy just shrugged, grinning that grin of hers. 'Let's get going, then,' she said, dragging her by the sleeve, her other hand still holding her refilled glass.

Daphne just let it happen.

'I'm telling you,' Draco exclaimed with just a hint of waning patience, his voice carrying, 'a Hippogriff could never beat a Giant. Even if it's a lot more agile, that's still not enough to overcome the sheer difference in mass. Get real, Leo!'

'Why are you so into this, Draco? Are you overcompensating?' quipped Tracey with a saucy smirk.

'What?' shouted Draco, his head whipping around in an instant. 'I'll have you know there's no need to _compensate_!' he proclaimed loudly and with a smug look.

'We'll take your word for it.'

'What I meant, Draco,' explained the boy with neatly parted black hair and calm eyes that so resembled both his older sister's and his mother's, 'is that a giant will never _catch_ the Hippogriff. And let's not forget that they're arguably comparably intelligent. My beast can cover much more ground than yours and is thus completely safe from him. But when the Giant falls asleep, it could strike from the shadows, swiftly ripping out his eyes, leaving the Giant helpless in further skirmishes.' Eye-catchingly deft, he brought a small cup of clay, that was full to overflowing, with both of his hands to his lips. Barely a ripple seemed to disturb the mirror-like surface which was being kept in place by its embattled surface tension. 'The Giant may be bigger, but it's still prey for the cunning hunter.'

'Boys!' interjected Tracey with a groan. 'Is it really so important which beast is more dangerous?'

'Of course!'

'I believe it serves to make a point.'

'I couldn't care less,' remarked Harry with a shrug.

'Oh, look! Our gracious host,' announced Tracey when she saw Daphne being steered towards them.

'Hello. It's nice you all made it,' Daphne greeted them, well-behaved but her thoughts straying. The dress was starting to make her feel uncomfortable already. _Maybe I should have picked another one, after all..._

Leo was wearing plain black quality robes similar to his sister's. Draco, to her surprise, was wearing rather modern dark dress pants and a navy-blue button-down shirt. Harry was, true to Tracey's predictions, wearing old-fashioned black robes with thin but bold linings in cyan blue.

Leo quickly offered his congratulations. 'Happy birthday, and thank you for your invitation, Daphne. I hope you like our present? It was almost too good to part with.'

'It's certainly...thrilling,' commented Daphne drily, aware of Tracey's and Harry's curious looks. _Damn it! Now I can't get it out of my head again! Blasted Lestranges, I bet they're having a la-_

And then it finally started to make sense. Now that she thought about it, she was fairly sure that was _the whole point_ of their gift. Giving her something that'd made her sweat for the entire duration of the party was exactly their idea of fun. They knew she couldn't leave the party without losing face, after all...

'Happy birthday, Greengrass. I've dropped my parcel with the others,' said Draco, who could apparently not be bothered to even stand up to greet her properly.

Harry, in contrast, did. He bowed formally, showing her an almost inappropriate amount of respect. 'Daphne,' he called with a warm and genuine smile. It had taken several years, but by now she was fairly good at keeping them straight. For Harry had many smiles: one for formal occasions, one when he was just being polite, one to cover up his insecurities, one to show his understanding, one when he was desperately trying to hide something, one meant to soothe, one when he was enjoying plotting secret revenge; those were more often than not the real emotions and intentions hiding behind his many faces, but this one was her absolute favourite. Mainly, because she knew he reserved it for so precious few people. 'Happy birthday. I hope you've been enjoying yourself?'

Daphne couldn't help smiling back, closing the gap between them and hugging him, delightedly taking note that he wasn't trying to shrug her off, even though his hands still flailed about rather ungainly.

But she decided not to push her luck so early and broke the embrace fairly quickly, taking a few steps back. 'So?' She smartly lifted the hem of her skirt for the tiniest bit, adumbrating a curtsy. 'What do you think of my dress, Mr Black?'

His eyes travelled over her dress, though he did, of course, know better than to _linger_. 'Bewitching. You're even more gorgeous than usual today, Daphne,' he answered with another small smile.

Daphne blinked. She knew perfectly well that Harry was capable of being charming. It was just that he _never_ chose to be if the occasion didn't demand it of him. And while this party was certainly a lot more prissy than she would have liked, there was still no reason for him to force it like this. His expression, she concluded after a second, seemed honest enough, if possibly a little restless. _What's going on here?_

'Is that so?' She raised her eyebrow, unconvinced. Emulating the stupid simpering of her grandmother, she continued in a formal tone, 'Then, surely, you wouldn't deny the guest of honour a dance if she were to ask it of you?'

He seemed to consider this for the fraction of a second, then his smile returned. This time, she couldn't quite place it. As quick as lightning, his dark wand flashed for a second, the lining of his robes turning progressively darker until they perfectly matched the midnight blue of her dress. 'Certainly not!' With another bow, he offered her his hand. 'Lead the way, my lady,' he said, playing along.

Daphne stared at him. Tracey, she noticed, was staring, too. Amy seemed to watch the whole spectacle with mild interest, sitting in a comfy armchair and drinking her Firewhiskey, eyes darting from her to Harry, idly awaiting the conclusion.

Daphne cleared her throat in an effort to overcome her stupor. 'Thank you,' she replied neutrally, taking his hand. It was quite warm.

And Harry, to her complete amazement, smiled again, following her towards the area where mostly young couples and the older crowd danced. He gently placed his other hand on her waist, gazing into her eyes as if daring her to look away first. 'Shall we?'

This time, Daphne didn't even remember to clear her throat. Words failed her. It was just Harry's gleaming green eyes and a lot of background noise. Daphne nodded.

Half a room away, the eyes of Tracey and the rest followed the pair of them with varying degrees of befuddlement.

'Well,' commented Amy airily, inclining her head just a tad and summing up all of their thoughts, 'that's new.'

* * *

 **AN** : _Arcturus told him not to overdo it, but there he goes. I know the last bit may seem like a complete turnaround, but it might be wise to wait for the next bit written from Harry's POV. I've decided to cut the chapter at this point because, frankly, it got out of hand again._

 _(I) Very justified criticism:_

 _I don't quite remember where I read it (but I believe it was a post in a forum) where some people were pointing out that Harry's behaviour felt off during the first few chapters. That is completely true and my mistake. Some scenes from the early chapters (1-4) were from my earliest drafts, problem being that I hadn't decided to up the age of enrolment back then. It's been corrected. Thanks!_

 _(II) Clarification about my take on magic:_

 _I've also come across someone saying that I'm heading for some of the more stereotypical tropes of fandom magical theory like magical cores or something. No! I've thought a lot about how I would have liked magic to be(have) in canon, and Black Luminary will mirror many of my thoughts without straying too far from canon (except where it's necessary). So while there certainly is a lot of theory involved, especially for the characters (I don't want to go overboard in the actual story with it), magic is still – ultimately – magic; a strange, unseizable and completely separate entity from traditional science. Harry's perception is one of the most important points of the plot yet to be introduced and has completely magical reasons (no, he's not the second coming of Merlin). I won't say anything more, but it might be smart to keep an eye on it._

 _(III) General comments about the earlier chapters (again):_

 _As you might realise after reading the last two notes, I've occupied myself with reading up on stuff other people have to say about this work last week._

 _Don't worry, I won't waste either your or my own time trying to defend everything I've done or try to excuse poor efforts – quite the contrary. In fact, since this is my story, I don't feel any hesitation whatsoever to just improve what I feel like I could do better by now. Currently, I'm making my way through the earlier chapters, mostly improving the flow of the story, easing up on a lot of unnecessarily stiff language (especially when it's part of the narration and not either Arcturus' or Harry's speech). This will also make some of the earlier scenes Harry has with Daphne slightly less painful to read, though it doesn't really change anything going by content alone._

 _And this, finally, leads me to the last thing..._

 _(IV) The (perceived and criticised) slow disclosure of backgrounds, plots etc:_

 _I have no plans to change the way I go about this. But please let me explain, in case you're one of those who are frustrated with me keeping it all close at hand._

 _Black Luminary is a story about young people who grew up following (pure-blood) traditions and, amusingly, Hermione, who gets kind of dropped into it. As Hermione learns early on, traditional pure-bloods aren't exactly in the business of sharing information for free. Some they won't share at all._

 _Harry and Daphne, who (besides Hermione) have so far been the other two major POVs, have neither the need to ask any questions nor do they lack the Muggle-born's 'common sense' (from the perspective of a pure-blood). Hermione won't be relegated to a tool to distribute information (*cough cough Rowling cough*), but I_ do _plan on utilising her perspective to demonstrate pure-blood Britain's handling of information (to the outsider's frustration). It's just the way things work here! When you think about it, for a witch or wizard knowledge is the ultimate currency or weapon of choice. They can't afford to be loose with it._

 _This shouldn't be confused with the pacing of the actual plot though – as promised it'll come along much faster this year._

Forecast for next week: Esmerelle Greengrass, Bellatrix' cute and harmless little kiddies at Hogwarts and lots of rain.


	29. VoD: Partial insight

**Partial insight**

* * *

Two hours, an untold number of dances, equally as many curious glances and probably even more nasty glares sent by Esmerelle Greengrass later, Harry finally dragged himself to a secluded spot to sit down and rest, massaging his pulsating temple. Years and years of lessons and training had left Harry feeling quite confident when it came to social games and obligations but that, admittedly, didn't necessarily translate to enjoyment.

Right now, for some reason or another, he felt as if his limbs were made of cotton wool. His thoughts, he assessed with a frown, were dull and sluggish - as if he hadn't slept in two days at least.

He felt utterly miserable.

He hadn't exactly planned to dance without a pause like that, but Daphne had apparently been enjoying herself, and it _was_ her birthday. There was, of course, the additional benefit of angering Madame Greengrass, too.

'Headache?' inquired a voice from behind.

Harry craned his neck, ignoring the stinging pain he felt behind his eyes. There stood Leo, one hand holding a jug full of water and a glass, the other a damp towel. His sister was lurking in the background. Her cheeks were strangely rosy, but even if she seemed outwardly dismissive, she was obviously paying attention. 'I love you, Leo!' murmured Harry with a little grin, taking a hasty sip and covering his eyes with the cloth immediately afterwards, leaning back and sighing exaggeratedly.

'If Daphne only knew how easy it is to get you to say those things,' jeered Amy with a lazy grin.

'Leave me alone.'

'So what's all this about, Harry?' asked Leo. Harry couldn't see it of course, but he was prepared to bet that the siblings were exchanging silent glances.

'How's Madame Greengrass taking it?' Harry chose to reply, again massaging his temples.

'Depends on your perspective, I'd say,' said Leo calmly.

'She's raging,' clarified Amy. 'The question is: did you do that just for the hell of it?'

Harry couldn't help grinning despite the incredible headache and soaring nausea. 'I need to have a few words with her. However, she's bound to be less than welcoming if I just approach her and ask nicely. So I thought if I openly undermine her political efforts of the last few years, she may turn out inclined to approach me instead.'

Again, he had the distinct impression that the siblings were sharing some secret information by eye contact. 'Daphne isn't going to be pleased,' said Leo carefully.

Harry hesitated for a second. 'Why would that be?'

'Sometimes,' Amy quipped with a smirk, 'I really can't decide whether you're a despicable genius or a likeable dumbass.'

'Is one of those options meant to be preferable?' Harry asked, just to make sure.

'You know it!' returned Amy cheerfully.

Thankfully, Harry was spared the need for a witty answer when Tracey entered the room, looking annoyed. 'The old hag's looking for you, Harry. Thought you might want to know.'

'Excellent.' With a flourish, Harry removed the towel covering his face, standing up rather resolutely. Or, at least, he tried. One joint after the other seemed to defy his control. His legs gave out from under him, and Harry, in a moment of terrible clarity, could already see himself crashing against the brutally hard granite table, when-all of a sudden-his fall was averted by Leo, who grabbed his robes and held him up.

'Thanks,' Harry mumbled weakly.

'I don't think this is a smart idea, Harry.'

'What are you talking about?' he returned, trying to make his body obey. Three seconds later, he was standing up without the aid of his cousin.

'Emeric's Evil Eye, you're a mess!' Amy called out, having hurried to his side when she noticed him collapsing. 'More than usual, I mean.'

'What are you mumbling about? I'm fine, maybe not so used to dancing anymore...'

'Harry,' said Tracey from his side, 'if I hadn't seen you moving right now, I would've been prepared to accept that you'd drowned in a lake somewhere.'

'I believe the word you're looking for is wan, Tracey,' opined Leo, who still had a hand on Harry's shoulder in case he fell over again.

'You can't call dead people wan, Leo! Even vampires would be jealous of his complexion!'

'I'm not dead, though,' Harry threw in. With a tremendous effort, he straightened his pose. 'I'm fine. Where's Madame Greengrass, Tracey?'

'You can't be ser-'

'Where is she?' Harry insisted, directing a severe glance at her.

When Tracey still seemed somewhat unconvinced, Amy narrowed her eyes. 'Mind your own business, Tracey. If he wants to do it, it's not your place to say he can't.'

Tracey stared at her. 'Fine!' she snapped. 'As if I could ever forget. She's looking for you in the resting area.' She turned around and stomped off. At the door, she turned around one more time, looking at Harry with a curious expression.

'Yes?'

'Harry, about Daphne, I...' She chewed on her cheek for a second. 'Never mind!'

Harry and the Lestranges silently watched her leave.

'What was that about?' Amy asked, intrigued.

'How should I know?'

'I think you should focus on your upcoming negotiation, anyway,' said Leo.

'Good point,' Harry grumbled, dragging his feet. 'Say, is the floor wavy?'

'Have you been drinking, too?' Amy looked at him with a proud smile.

'No?' Harry answered, perplexed. That explained Amy's glazed over eyes, at least.

'Oh. Well, in that case, I think your sense of balance is simply screwed right now.'

'Likely due to exhaustion or mental fatigue,' her brother added with a nod.

It took Harry nearly twenty seconds for the ten yards between the sofa and the door. 'Pathetic!' he snarled, gripping the frame in an effort to not lose his poise again.

'Are you sure you can manage right now?' Leo looked at him appraisingly. 'You're risking making a fool of yourself in front of Greengrass.'

'Good point. Amy?'

'Yeah?'

'Can you...rustle something up? Something, anything really, that'll keep me afoot the next hour?'

In Harry's opinion, it was possible to gauge the character of people by setting them to difficult tasks and analysing their attempts at a solution. His other friends might have complained about the impossibility of it all or maybe even asked if he'd injured his head. Amadina Lestrange merely smirked nastily. 'I think I remember where Daphne and her mum store their stuff. Back in a minute!'

Harry closed his eyes again, leaning against the frame. _Well, this is for Daphne, too, so it should be okay, right?_

 _~BLVoD~_

The sounds of the party were muted up here on the second floor. Daphne nervously fingered the illegal Portkey in her pocket, wondering for the umpteenth time why she was wasting time up here when she should be downstairs with the rest of her friends and the last few remaining guests. It had just been getting good, too!

'Listen, Daphy! Don't anger your gran, don't ask questions and don't interfere!' Tracey walked up and down in front of her, her finger cutely raised in lecture. 'Let Harry do his thing, and please, please don't lose your temper.'

'Don't you think you're overreacting? I think you've spent too much time with Granger,' said Daphne with a shrug. 'Don't worry! I'll keep calm.' Spotting the expression on her best friend's face, she hastily amended, 'I'll stay calm – outwardly that is. I'll try my best to stay calm. I'll definitely not explode, probably. I'm the epitome of forced calmness and rationality!'

Tracey covered her face with her hand in a dramatic gesture. 'Salazar have mercy!'

Daphne smiled, rolling her eyes. 'Don't worry. But where are they? Have you seen Harry since we decided to take a short break?'

Tracey grimaced for some strange reason. 'He's with Leo and Amy. They're probably on their way.'

Daphne couldn't help feeling somewhat giddy when she thought back on the last few hours. Harry holding her close, Harry smiling at her, Harry's attention on nothing and nobody but her. It had all started as a single blissful dance, and she'd been delighted, or rather ecstatic, when he'd agreed to go for another round when she'd gazed at him imploringly, puppy eyes and all.

'There you are.' But there was always a downside. It was quite possible that nothing could rip her more brutally from her daydreams than the voice of her detestable grandmother. At least Harry was with her, outwardly perfectly at ease with the grumpy hag at his side. He looked a bit pale, but he'd always been on the wispy side, and even Daphne had felt a bit winded after their two-hour non-stop dancing session. 'Let's get inside then, I want this over with as soon as possible.'

At least, Daphne thought with a hidden smirk, Esmerelle Greengrass didn't seem happy. Indeed, going by the fiercely grim expression and the way her stupid hat seemed all crumpled, it must have been an altogether very disappointing evening for her. Which is why the smile Daphne levelled at Harry came even more easily than usual.

Her grandmother opened the door and trudged inside. It was quite remarkable how she managed to walk in a way that made the floorboards quake, despite her almost pathologically slender build. 'Daphne, sit,' she barked, pointing at the chair beside her. 'You, over there!' Harry was apparently to sit opposite them.

Naturally, Daphne chose to sit next to Harry, pleased to take note of her grandmother's scowl. Harry smiled in a way that certainly _looked_ polite, though she knew better.

'Fine,' Esmerelle Greengrass conceded grudgingly, clearly deciding that it wasn't worth it to open hostilities over such a trivial matter.

'What can I do for you, Madame Greengrass?' Harry asked civilly, slowly taking a seat next to Daphne and diligently rearranging his robes so they wouldn't get creased.

'What I want,' her grandmother said coldly, 'is for you to stop destroying my career!'

Harry looked mildly shocked. 'I beg your pardon, ma'am?'

'Don't play stupid with me, boy! You knew the folk from the Ministry were there, and you, you of all _things_ had to dance with my granddaughter all evening!'

'I'm so sorry, ma'am. I had no idea...'

Lady Greengrass sniffed patronisingly at that. 'Did you know I had to placate those gentlemen, saying you were invited purely by courtesy?'

'What?' Daphne growled in a guttural fashion. 'What have you been telling them about me and Harry?!'

Her grandmother and Harry both stared at her for a second. Then, to Daphne's and her grandmother's equal shock, Harry smirked, taking her hand in his. Slowly, their fingers intertwined.

If Daphne had been clear-headed enough to do anything but gawk at Harry's warm hand, she'd have noticed the look of rage and rancour that flickered across her grandmother's face.

'I am convinced we can look into that at some later point in time, Daphne. For now, I believe it would be best if we were to attend to the issue at hand, alright?' he proposed with a warm smile.

Daphne nodded tamely.

'This needs to stop,' her grandmother said with forced calm – not that Daphne was paying much attention anymore. 'You can't just parade her around like that! This is a matter of importance to House Greengrass! If you can't oblige, I'll have t-'

Again, Daphne realised with an angry frown, her grandmother managed to destroy her fantasies at a moment's notice. She was about to scream at the embarrassment that just so happened to be her gran, but Harry tightened his grip on her hand, making her look into his confident eyes with a questioning look. _I've seen that look before..._

'Please, Madame. I'm sure we both wouldn't want to escalate the matter further. So you want me to stop from, inadvertently, interfering with your political dealings?'

Esmerelle Greengrass sneered, her measuring eyes on their linked hands that rested, prominent and extremely visible, on the table between them. 'No, that is what will happen. The only question is if you'll see reason, or if I have to take measures!'

'I see,' Harry responded pensively, looking down, apparently thinking it through.

'If you can't find it in yourself to stop meddling in affairs that aren't your own, I'll have Daphne and Astoria attend Beauxbatons instead.'

'If you do that,' Daphne hissed menacingly, 'I'll-'

'You'll what? You can't refuse whatever I decide to do with you, girl,' the old crone snapped back, her own patience apparently waning as well.

'No,' Daphne replied with a shake of her head, 'but I can tell every person I know, every person you'll ever introduce me to, what a cold, miserable and power-hungry old bat you truly are. I'm sure Skeeter would just _love_ to hear my story about how you try to control me and Tori both by any means.'

'You wouldn't! That's your name on the line as well!' Her grandmother looked horrified. 'Would you shame your ancestors just to spite me?'

'It seems we all have something to consider then, Madame,' interjected Harry, squeezing Daphne's hand again. 'So how about we reach for a compromise?'

'What compromise?' Esmerelle Greengrass demanded harshly. 'You can't haggle with me like a common pedlar!'

'Please, ma'am,' Harry replied enviably unperturbed. The same really couldn't be said for Daphne, who, if it hadn't been for Harry's mollifying touch, would likely have already shouted or left the room. 'I will endeavour to not step on toes as to your political dealings - in public, naturally - you won't try to interfere with Daphne's personal relations or her education, and your granddaughter, in turn, will refrain from publicly reviling you.' He turned to look at her. 'Do you think that's acceptable, Daphne?'

Hesitantly, she nodded. 'Fine! But only if she keeps her word!'

'Madame?'

'I have your word that you won't publicly sabotage my efforts to distance House Greengrass from House Black?' the old women asked shrewdly.

'Well,' Harry drawled with deliberate carefulness. 'I can only speak for myself, of course, but you have _my_ word that I won't mess with your political dealings should you stay true to your promise to let the girls do as they please when at school or not in public.'

Harry, apparently lost in thought, casually moved their joined hands so that his own now lay on top. Slowly, tormentingly slowly, anger and indignation left Daphne – but so did the feeling of happiness she'd felt for the entire evening.

Harry was playing her grandmother.

She could see it in his eyes now. He hid it well, and she wasn't quite sure even now, but this was the best explanation for his strange behaviour all evening; the compliments, the intimate dancing, his willingness to indulge her, all the little gestures - everything had been done to steer her grandmother to this point, to make her agree to this 'compromise' of his.

Daphne would be glad to have her peace at Hogwarts, and despite her insistence on the opposite, her gran's continuous threats had definitely shaken her. But all that was irrelevant, all that was completely negligible in comparison to the fact that Harry hadn't really meant any of the small gestures that had elated her all evening – hadn't meant anything at all.

Harry and her gran were still exchanging calculating glances, but she knew Harry had already won. Her grandmother would take the deal thinking to salvage the game, ignorant of the knowledge that Harry had rigged the board.

'Fine,' the old woman eventually conceded. 'But I'll be monitoring your behaviour carefully.' Without another word, Esmerelle Greengrass stood up and waltzed through the door, leaving a smug-looking Harry and the thoroughly crestfallen Daphne behind.

Harry stood up a bit unsteadily and tried to withdraw his hand, but Daphne held fast. Confused, he looked down at her.

'It's still my birthday, isn't it?' Daphne asked in a small voice.

'It is.'

'Okay, then I want you to follow me. We need to talk.'

She led him through the house, avoiding friends and families until they finally reached the rooftop. It was a clear and warm summer night, stars softly twinkling. A gentle breeze tickled her neck when Daphne finally turned around, letting go of his hand. Harry was staring at her, eyebrows raised, not bothering to hide his bafflement.

'Is everything alright, Daphne?'

'You know, I never believed that I'd actually agree with my gran on anything, but I guess I'll have to eat my words here. You really _did_ parade me around, didn't you?' When Harry seemed ready to protest, she raised her hands to cut him off. 'Don't deny it! Don't lie to me! You wanted to irritate Gran, that's why you danced with me that long and that's why you bent to my whims.' Daphne turned around, electing to avoid Harry's gaze. Dejectedly, she pinched the annoying fabric where it seemed to cut into her skin.

'I didn't lie to you, Daphne,' Harry replied after a while, his tone aggrieved. 'But I _did_ want to solve the issue with your grandmother...'

His voice faltered, but she knew he wouldn't need to say anything else. Daphne didn't even need to consider what she'd do the moment Esmerelle Greengrass decided that it was time for her granddaughter to completely part ways with the only person besides Tori and her mother she truly considered family – or something.

'For what it's worth, I also didn't mean to leave you in the dark about my intentions this evening. I simply didn't get the chance to speak to you beforehand, and, while I don't mean to, er, be rude or anything, you have to admit you're not exactly the most subtle person the world has ever seen.'

Hugging her own body, Daphne reluctantly turned half-way around, still staring at her shoes. 'Don't make me hit you!' she said in what she considered a brave attempt to return to normalcy, though she had to admit that her voice sounded a little flimsy. With a sniff that she hoped would go unnoticed, she added, 'Do you think she'll keep her word?'

'There'll be a way even if she doesn't.'

'You promised you wouldn't leave me, too,' she pleaded desperately, her voice so thin and meek that even a falling leaf might have drowned out her words.

'And I won't.'

Daphne stared at her feet, wishing for the day to finally end. The dress, the party – all that could go to hell, as far as she was concerned. She simply wanted to shut her eyes, forget everything and start anew tomorrow.

'Daphne.' Harry calling her by name caused her to slowly raise her head a bit. Her lugubrious countenance seemed to trouble him. After a second of hesitation, he took her hand again, more slowly, less confidently so than before, and smiled a little. 'How about this? One dance, just the both of us up here. No spectators, no politics, no obligations and no ulterior motives. Just Harry dancing with the birthday girl.'

'You mean it?' she asked in a low voice, searching for any signs of deception.

'I do. This time, however, only _one_ dance.'

'Stingy!' she whispered with a fleeting smile in return, stepping in closer than strictly necessary.

And then they danced. Slower, less striking and much less formal than before and no routines involved, her hands on his back, her face nestled against the nape of his neck.

Up here, it was just Harry and her, with the light of a million distant suns gleaming down on them, glistering, their burning heat as far away, as unnoticeable as the noise of the soon forgotten festivity down below.

Up here, all that counted was Harry and her, consolatory darkness their only company as their silhouettes blended with the green and blue of the night, his body the only source of warmth in a world of coolness that forced her to snuggle even closer to him, their movements slowly ceasing until they only swayed in the wind.

'Harry?'

'Hm?'

'Can we stay like this for a bit?'

'...okay,' he mumbled faintly.

Their 'dance' stopped altogether, and Daphne clung to his body, listening to his calm and shallow breathing, eyes closed, sporting a peaceful smile that might have seemed at odds with the tears that slowly trickled down from her eyes. Ten minutes of indulging in his soothing presence, Daphne committed the images of their dance to her memory with a sad little smile. Looking down at her dress, she knew for certain that it now deserved a special spot in her wardrobe. Eventually, she lifted her head. Harry had closed his eyes at some point, and when she took a tentative step back, he swayed dangerously.

Daphne stared numbly at the person that meant the most to her in the whole wide world. Harry, as it turned out, was fast asleep.

 _You've got to be kidding me...!_


	30. VoD: Zero tolerance

**Zero tolerance**

* * *

This year, the usual cheerful hustle and bustle of King's Cross Station was replaced by frantic people scurrying around, trying to protect themselves from the ever-present heavy downpour with umbrellas, handbags, newspapers or-in the case of the truly unfortunate-just bare hands.

Harry was already comfortably inside, a minuscule smile on his lips as he watched a young girl with long blonde hair prance across the platform, whistling happily and seemingly oblivious to the rain. Why someone would risk making a fool of himself by getting soaked on the first day of school was completely beyond him, of course, but it was amusing to witness nonetheless.

Movement outside the compartment door forced him to avert his attention, and he subtly readied his wand, putting the magazine in his other hand aside.

'Shut it already, Tracey!'

'It's hilarious!' came Tracey's voice, thick with laughter and completely out of breath.

A thoroughly annoyed-looking Daphne yanked the door open, smiling apologetically at Harry before she sat down, leaving her trunk in the middle of the compartment. Tracey followed immediately, her expression gleeful, and she threw herself on a seat in front of Harry, still fighting down the fit of giggles. With a swish of his wand, Harry stowed the trunks away.

'Harry! I hope you've been alright?' asked Daphne pleasantly.

'Yeah! Hi, Harry! _Sleeping well_?' jeered Tracey, still sniggering.

'I knew I shouldn't have told you after all,' said Daphne with a groan.

That comment seemed to push Tracey over the edge again, and she slapped her seat in-between the hysterical fits of laughter, tears of mirth flowing freely from her eyes.

'Hello, Daphne. Nice to see you, too, Tracey,' added Harry, a little frosty.

'H-hey, Harry,' she snorted with laughter. 'It's good to know I can trust you not to take advantage of little Daphy here!'

'Tracey...?' growled Daphne warningly.

Harry just glared at the petite witch.

'In case you can't make it as the evil offspring of darkness, you might consider a career as the languorous lover-boy!'

'Tracey!' snapped Daphne, who looked at least as uncomfortable as Harry felt. 'We were just dancing!'

'Sure, Sweetie, sure! That's why you were sulking for three whole days afterwards, right?'

Daphne playfully hit her best friend on the shoulder, a noticeable shade of red now colouring her face. 'Stop it already!'

'You guys are too cute!'

'Who's cute, now?'

Harry reluctantly looked up from the scientific paper about animation charms on living matter. Draco stood in the doorway. Tracey's exuberant grin turned into her trademark fake simper at record speed. 'Not you, definitely.'

'Don't kid yourself,' said Draco haughtily, taking a seat next to Harry. 'Hope you guys have lived through the deluge alright? My summer plans have been swept away – literally.'

'I'm so sorry about your precious stamp collection, Draco,' said Tracey with the most shamelessly obvious of fake expressions, which managed to give the entire concept of commiseration a bad name worldwide.

'What's a "stamp collection"?' asked Draco, taken aback.

'Don't ask me!' replied Daphne.

'No idea,' said Harry with a shrug. 'It's some kind of Muggle thing, isn't it?'

Tracey sighed dramatically. 'You guys are all so sheltered.'

'Draco's got a stamp collection?' Hermione stood in the doorway, looking at Draco as if he'd started to grow a second head.

'Oho?' Tracey sat up expectantly, sporting a saucy smirk. 'You interested in Draco's stamp collection, Hermione?'

Hermione's non-verbal answer was a look of pity and revulsion in equal measure.

'Oi! I don't know about this stamp business, but I somehow feel offended,' said Draco, looking from Tracey to Hermione. 'Anyway, don't stand there like a lost little girl, Granger. You're blocking what little light there is due to this accursed weather.'

'Yes, nice to see you, too, Draco. Hey, Harry. Greengrass. I hope everyone's been having a good summer?'

'Good day, Hermione. Good to see you, too,' Harry greeted her back, his eyes flickering to hers and back to his essay for just a second.

'It was quite alright. Thank you for asking,' said Daphne politely.

'This must have been the most boring of summers – ever!' complained Draco loudly. 'It wouldn't even stop raining for three days, so we had to delay our vacation plans again and again!'

'Poor little Draco,' quipped Tracey with a grin.

'Bugger off!'

'So?' asked Tracey with a knowing smirk, turning towards Hermione, who was just settling down. 'How was your summer?'

'Er, fairly normal? I spent a lot of time with my parents, and we were on a short vacation in France, too!'

'I like France!' said Tracey with a glowing look, either ignorant of both Daphne's and Draco's patronising looks or choosing to tune them out. 'Where exactly?'

'Lots of places, though Nice and the Gorges du Verdon were my favourites! The landscape was just wonderful!'

'Ever been to Corsica?' asked Tracey excitedly.

'Not yet, sadly. We'd planned to, but our trip was cut short because of the weather wreaking havoc with the flight plan.'

'You flew to France?' inquired Draco sceptically.

'Planes, Draco.' Tracey rolled her eyes. 'I bet you've seen them. Big, noisy, leaving gigantic vapour trails in the sky, you know. Just because you don't want to deal with those things doesn't mean you can pretend they don't exist!'

'But I can _try_!' Draco sniffed disdainfully.

'Anyway,' said Tracey with a look of someone about to open a big present they'd been waiting for all year, 'tell us about your trip with Harry.'

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw both Daphne and Hermione tensing slightly. With a sigh, he closed his book, choosing to diffuse the situation. 'Have I done anything to warrant this somewhat contumelious behaviour, Tracey?'

But she just ignored him. 'So?' Tracey egged Hermione on. 'Tell us!'

Hermione looked with a certain measure of hesitation from Harry to Tracey and eventually to Daphne. 'Er, I'm not sure I should, to be honest.'

'Why ever not?'

'Well, it's quite personal,' returned Hermione, biting her lip nervously.

Tracey seemed disappointed whereas Daphne looked relieved.

'Guys, heard the latest? My father told me some random dude from Hogwarts got a warning, killed the Ministry owl and escaped the dispatched Aurors with someone else in tow.'

'What? That's crazy!' exclaimed Daphne disbelievingly.

'Who'd ever do something so stupid?!' shouted Tracey.

Harry was careful to avoid looking at Hermione _or_ Draco. 'That seems a little far-fetched, Draco. You shouldn't believe all the rumour mongering the Ministry's up to.'

'Really, Harry. You mean to tell me that you don't _know anything at all_ about that?'

Harry casually opened his reading again, skipping to the page he'd left the bookmark on with exaggerated care. 'I'm not sure what you're talking about. I haven't asked Grandfather about what passes through the Ministry grapevine these days since he's been so busy.'

'Is that so?' Draco drawled with pronounced scepticism.

Harry shrugged, not looking up. _Freaking Malfoys_!

'Anyway, guys, wanna hear about Harry's latest clanger?' Tracey laughed again.

'Tracey!' Daphne jumped up from her seat and tried to silence her best and currently most annoying friend by pressing her hand onto her mouth, but the considerably smaller witch managed to snake her way out of her grip and jumped out of her reach, standing on top of the seats and, comically, even still not much taller than Daphne. She was still laughing rambunctiously. 'You can't silence the truth, Daphy!'

Harry sighed, rubbing his temple. In the background, Daphne was desperately trying to get ahold of Tracey, who incredibly enough managed to escape her quite effortlessly in the relatively small compartment and still had the time to retell her take on how he'd fallen asleep on Daphne.

Harry sighed, turning a page. _Whatever, it's not like that really matters._

'Can you believe it?! Dancing closely like that under the stars, and the next moment,' she clicked her fingers for emphasis, 'he's asleep – just like that!'

'TRACEY!'

'For real?! He really outdid himself this time! Brilliant!'

Even Hermione was apparently trying very hard not to laugh. 'W-well,' she said, trying to sound diplomatic while suppressing a giggle. 'He must've been really tired!'

Harry frowned, gazing out of the window. The storm was still raging with such fervency that the train occasionally shook slightly from the gale, despite its momentum and weight. In the distance, he spotted branches and even entire seedlings being swept up by the wind whenever a bolt of lightning illuminated the dismal landscape. Rain hit the windows with a ferocity that suggested a personal feud.

For a second, his eyes lingered on the reflections of his friends that were either cheering or, in the case of Hermione, desperately trying to hold in their reproving remarks as Daphne finally managed to grab a fistful of Tracey's robes, causing both of them to topple.

Wind howled, and another flurry pressed a bundle of leaves and some smaller stones against the glass. This kind of weather, Harry thought, his frown deepening, would be remarkable enough in December, but weeks of constant windstorms that never let up during summer and now September was simply unheard of.

His eyes, once again, strayed towards Tracey, who was still laughing gleefully while Daphne desperately tried to shut her up at last, though her attempt was somewhat weakened as she also tried to burrow her face in her friend's robes to hide the uncharacteristic blush that adorned her face. _Just you wait, Tracey. I haven't forgotten about you telling Hermione, either..._

 _~BLVoD~_

The carriage, Hermione decided nervously, was even less comfortable than the train, mostly because she felt even more exposed to the thunderstorm over their heads. The clouds were so thick that the lamps had been lit – as if it were night time. Tracey and Daphne were still mucking around, egged on by Draco's comments. Harry, on the other hand, had for quite some time now been staring into the darkness outside.

'So,' said Draco eventually. 'Why were Leo and the other one not in the compartment with us?'

Tracey and Daphne both shrugged, still eyeing each other warily, hands raised to ward of the next attack that was sure to come.

'They said they wanted to "have a look at the competition". Make of that whatever you want,' Harry replied.

'Who is?' asked Hermione, confused.

'Oh, right.' Draco groaned. 'You haven't met yet, have you?'

'Like I said, who're we talking about?' she repeated her question.

'Two friends of mine who'll be joining us at Hogwarts this year,' Harry replied, still looking outside.

'That...Leo and another one?'

'Right,' responded Draco, blanching slightly. 'Both have fairly...unique personalities.'

'Are they siblings?'

'They sure are,' said Tracey. 'Outwardly a bit different maybe, but they're fairly similar in other ways, you'll see.'

'What's the second one's name, then?'

Draco shivered in an exaggerated manner. 'Let's call her Leo's sister, please. At least for now!'

Hermione bit back the question that immediately rose in her, but she looked at both Tracey and Harry, silently asking for clarification.

Clarification Tracey seemed only too willing to offer. 'Amy once played an amusing prank on our good Draco here.'

'That wasn't a prank!' Draco shouted hotly.

Tracey only sniggered. 'Apparently, Draco was a bit of a snob when he was younger, and he was quite fond of condescending others, especially those younger than him.'

'What's it with you today, Tracey?! Shut up already!' barked Draco.

'So he thought he could boss cute and harmless little Amy around a bit. And she let him. When he was asleep, however, she sneaked into his room and put a generous measure of permanent all-purpose glue on his eyelids. Let's just say, Draco had a pretty rude awakening.'

Hermione wasn't sure if she was supposed to laugh or cringe, so she bit her lip as a compromise. 'Well, I can see how you'd be upset about that, but...'

'Oh, you misunderstand, Honey! You see, Amy _continued_ to sneak into his room every night for the next fortnight. No matter what he did, no matter who Draco cried about it to, she always managed to silently pull some rather malicious pranks on him. And let me tell you, the glue was positively nice and harmless in comparison to some of her later ones.'

'How do you know, anyway?' demanded Draco with a snarl. ' _I_ certainly haven't told you!'

'Amy told me,' replied Tracey with a smile. 'In excruciating detail, I might add.'

'Me, too,' Daphne threw in.

'She bragged to me about it, as well,' said Harry with a nod.

Draco cussed under his breath, making a face.

'And that's why you don't call her by name?' Hermione asked, rather shocked about Draco's brutal re-education at the hands of a girl one year younger than him.

'Better you don't tempt your luck unnecessarily!' he murmured uncomfortably.

Tracey slapped him on the back, grinning from one ear to another. 'And there you have it, Honey! No matter how bad a character you have,' she went on, pointing playfully towards Draco, who snarled at her in return, 'there's always someone worse.'

 _~BLVoD~_

They spent the rest of the ride in pointlessly tense silence, everyone glaring at someone else, except for Harry, who knew to be more subtle, and Hermione, who was far too intimidated to glare at anybody. Once the conversation came to a grinding halt, the storm seemed even more daunting, occasionally rattling the carriage, causing the Thestrals to snuffle nervously. Harry didn't mind the supposed harbingers of bad luck, but he knew for a fact that they were hardly something you'd consider easily shaken, and yet this weather seemed to have them on edge, almost skittish. But no matter how hard Harry looked, there was nothing – except wind, rain and noise.

The coach trundled jerkily towards Hogwarts Castle, the scenery occasionally illuminated by the blinding strikes of lightning. The strange weather phenomenon had, if anything, gotten even worse closer to their destination. Harry certainly didn't envy the first years that had to cross the lake this time around. He wasn't worried about Amy and Leo, of course. He idly imagined Amy revelling in the fear of the others, soaking up their dread to savour it at some later time like a good wine.

That was probably going a bit too far, but she really had him worried at times.

Harry was quite grateful when they finally reached the front court, and he politely offered his hands to the girls to help them climb out, though Tracey got left out without further comment.

'Thanks!'

'Thank you, Harry.' Daphne beamed at him.

Harry was aware that his cousin seemed to be paying even more attention to him as of late. She wasn't as obvious about it as she used to be, but he could feel her eyes on him often enough. Nevertheless, and this certainly was a pleasant surprise, she seemed to be keeping her distance more often than not. Considering that mastering his behaviour on her birthday had left him in bed for three days with a splitting headache, he was certainly thankful. In all fairness, it had to be pointed out that he still wasn't sure if that was due to his training in Occlumency or the potion Amy had...procured for him.

Leaves rained down on them, and the howling gale ripped at their robes, the fabric fluttering violently in the wind that threatened to deafen them.

'What is it with this storm?' Harry asked in annoyance as another blindingly dazzling bolt of lightning illuminated the massive castle for a fraction of a second, the all-mighty roar of thunder following within the second. The world almost seemed to come to a stop while the thunder blared. But eventually, the moment passed, and the cold rain once again bit their exposed skin, and faint violet light shone dimly through the narrow cracks in the thick blanket of blackly clouds that loomed under the sky.

'Is it just me,' Tracey asked, 'or has Hogwarts become slightly sinister over the summer?'

'I-It actually looks a bit...bodeful, doesn't it?' Hermione asked in a slightly unnatural tone.

Draco only laughed. 'Come on, girls. We're supposed to be the unholy children of blood-loving, curse-spewing, devil-worshipping villains. Who'll take us seriously if you quiver at a bit of lightning?'

The wind eased a bit, putting a small smirk on his lips. 'See? It's not so ba-'

A curling bolt of lightning struck the earth barely fifty yards away, miraculously missing the towering trees or spires of the castle, causing the earth to tremble beneath their feet.

'On second thought,' Draco said calmly, though Harry rather thought the young Malfoy looked a bit sweaty, 'maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to hurry up a bit.'

'This is nuts!' Tracey shouted to make herself heard over the gale, as they sprinted towards the oaken door that had never seemed so welcoming. 'There aren't supposed to be tropical storms in Scotland!'

'Especially not for weeks and weeks...' Harry remarked to nobody in particular.

With an almighty leap, he finally managed to cross the threshold of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall stood grim-faced next to the heavy oaken portal, crossing names off a list. 'Hurry along, Mr Black! It's not safe outside!'

Harry nodded in return, dragging Daphne and Draco along with him so that they wouldn't block the entrance.

'I can't believe this! That was barely thirty yards from the carriage to the door, and I'm drenched!' moaned Draco, wringing out his hair.

Tracey and Daphne, too, seemed to share a dark look.

'Harry? Can't you do that warming Charm thing?' asked Hermione with a hopeful smile.

'What? Oh, well, I can do better, actually,' he admitted distractedly. With a swish and a sharp downwards snap of his wrist, Harry aimed his wand vaguely at the floor that was the centre of their little group. Immediately, hot air seemed to engulf him from within his clothes, drying his skin and his clothes both in a matter of seconds.

Tracey yelped loudly, clutching her robes with a shocked expression. 'What IS that?' she demanded, even more high-pitched than usual.

Daphne, by contrast, leant against the old stone wall, eyes closed, sighing exaggeratedly. 'I like it!'

'Just a Charm,' said Harry vaguely, quite unwilling to dally any longer. 'It's actually meant to help people who suffer from hypothermia, but it has its uses if used moderately.'

'What year?!' Hermione demanded with something a Gryffindor might call a snarl.

'It's, er, not featured in the Hogwarts curriculum, I believe.'

'Of course not,' she replied angrily. 'Can you show it to me some other time? With that other one to warm your clothes?'

Harry shrugged half-heartedly. 'I guess. Come on, let's get going. I don't want to get a seat that's close to the teachers.'

In the antechamber of the Great Hall, Madame Pomfrey was checking every new arrival, administering Pepperup Potions and distributing warm towels.

'That'll take forever!' complained Draco loudly, his eyes lingering on the long line of students wishing to enter the Great Hall.

And it did. That was mostly due to the first years, though. The tour across the lake had at some point been accelerated with magical aid, as more and more terrified newcomers kept capsizing, and some were quite shocked from their first ever Hogwarts experience by now.

'Nobody's keeping them here,' hissed Draco under his breath.

Hermione frowned but didn't seem to consider his statement worthy of a reply. 'Can you point out your friends, Harry?'

'No need,' he answered with an amused grin. 'Look at the first years and tell me who it is yourself.'

He saw her eyes darting from face to face. Most of them were either annoyed, overwhelmed or frightened to some agree, and only three really stood out: the strange girl Harry had seen dance in the rain, an almost irritatingly prim and proper-looking boy with grey eyes, and a girl with similar eyes who had apparently decided that she didn't want to stand anymore and had casually taken a seat at the Ravenclaw table, much to their amusement.

'It's not, you know,' Hermione paused delicately, 'the blonde who seems to be trying to catch a really small bug or something?'

'No.'

'Come on, Granger. Does _she_ look like an associate of Harry's?'

'Er, no, I guess not. How about the boy who's...just taken out a suit brush?'

'Bull's eye!' shouted Tracey happily, ignoring the turning heads. 'That's Leo. Guess again!'

'Er, the skinny brunette in the second row?'

'Nope,' replied Tracey, making a clown-worthy sound of a disappointed horn.

'The grumpy one maybe? Backline, petite redhead with freckles?'

'Oh, the Weasley? Good catch, but no dice,' said Draco.

'Er, the dark one at the front in the short robes?'

Harry made a face at that. 'Those aren't _robes_ , that is an accident!'

Draco and Daphne sniggered in agreement, though it was easy to see that Hermione failed to share their opinion. 'Well, I don't see anyone else with needlessly expensive robes or an annoyingly smug expression!'

'I somehow get the feeling you're trying to hurt me here, Hermione,' said Harry with a raised eyebrow. 'Ravenclaw table, front seat, curly dark hair.'

'Ravenclaw? What are y... Hey, I haven't seen _her_ around?! She can't just sit there! She's yet to be sorted!'

'Amy, however, doesn't seem to share your opinion.'

'Now, if you will all line up in an orderly fashion, please. Miss Lestrange, get up and in line already!' barked Professor McGonagall, placing the ragged hat on the stool in front.

Amy yawned in an unconcerned kind of fashion before she lazily got up and walked towards her brother, who looked at her disapprovingly.

Immediately, a lot of whispers broke out over at the tables of the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Some were craning their necks, and a few were even openly pointing.

'She doesn't seem popular,' stated Hermione drily.

'Of course, she isn't, silly,' said Tracey with a grin. 'But don't worry about them; they can take care of themselves.'

'Why all the angry hissing though?'

'Honey, really? I thought it'd gotten better!' Tracey raised her hands dramatically as if despairing over the very heavens.

'The Lestrange family,' said Daphne in a very low voice and to both Hermione's and Harry's surprise, 'is the only line left who openly supports the Blacks in the Wizengamot.'

'You mean, she's suspect by default because she might be close to Harry?'

'Well,' said Harry, deciding to intervene – maybe Hermione deserved some kind of warning in advance. 'Yes, but the Lestranges also have a nasty reputation for being slightly...imbalanced.'

'Imbalanced?' Hermione repeated slowly.

'Don't anger her when she draws her wand,' translated Draco. 'She's not one for talking when she's angry. Leo, too, can be a bit...obsessive, though his mood swings are thankfully not as volatile.'

And then it clicked in Hermione's head. 'They're who you've been alluding to, Tracey?'

The girl in question blinked rather rapidly for a few seconds, obviously trying to remember that discussion.

'You said "I hadn't met the really nasty part of Harry's family yet",' quoted Hermione helpfully.

'Did you, now,' said Harry coldly, his eyes slightly narrowed as he allowed a bit of the anger he felt at those words to shine through.

'I, uh, I just meant – oopsie!' Tracey grinned guiltily.

'Don't speak about such things here, Hermione. We'll talk later, Tracey.'

Harry continued to stare at her until Tracey was nervous enough to switch seats with Daphne. He didn't mean anything particularl by it, and Tracey's warning was true enough, but he just felt like paying her back a bit right now. The Sorting was like soporific at any rate.

'Lestrange, Amadina.'

Harry looked up, unable to conceal the little smile as he watched Amy striding towards the chair. She was her usual self – she always was. Casual, calm and probably already making a list of people whose faces she didn't like. She quickly sat down and McGonagall put the hat down on her. Not a second later, Amy grinned and a voice called, 'SLYTHERIN!'

Professor McGonagall looked confusedly from Amy to the hat, not quite sure what had happened. Harry had only caught on because he'd been watching her very closely, but it was really something how she managed to copy the voice of the hat to such a degree.

Professor McGonagall creased her brow. Amy, seeing the confused looks all around, stood up.

'Just one second, Miss Lestrange.' Dumbledore, too, had stood up, his eyes twinkling with entertainment. 'Ingenious, really, but I fear I must insist you let the Sorting run its course properly.'

'It's quite alright, Headmaster. Slytherin it is,' proclaimed the hat with a sigh and somewhat less fervour than usually. 'Blasted Lestranges,' it added with a murmur that was still perfectly audible thanks to the puzzled silence. Except for the strange blonde, who was clapping politely, of course.

A lot of people were looking at each other strangely, but Harry paid them no mind and made a bit of space for Amy, waving her over. She happily settled down next to him, sighing contentedly.

'Hey, Amy! Er, what just happened?' asked Daphne, looking from Amy to Dumbledore.

'Hey, good to finally be here! I was just trying to get it over with,' Amy replied with a shrug.

McGonagall coughed pointedly to get everyone's attention back.

'Lestrange, Leandros.'

A few people sniggered at the call.

Harry subtly leant over the table and said in a hushed tone to Hermione, 'Don't make fun of his name. Just a tip.'

'I, er, it _is_ a bit unusual, but who am I to judge?' she replied with a small smile.

'Good call.'

Harry watched Leo walking up to the chair. He had to suppress a smirk as he observed his cousin scowl at the state of the furniture, pull out a small cloth from within his robes, and hastily wipe the seat a few times before settling down with an expression of someone making a notable sacrifice for the greater good. A lot of people were laughing and pointing. McGonagall, on the other hand, pursed her lips in an unfriendly manner. _Maybe Daphne has found a serious contender for the top spot of unpopularity with the Gryffindor Head of House at last_. Many Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were still looking curiously at both Leo and Amy. The elder sister watched on indifferently, though Harry had no doubt that she privately took note of every unfriendly gaze, filing them away for later evaluation and, possibly, forced re-education.

Seemingly getting bored already, Amy changed her posture and inspected her curly black hair critically, her legs now carelessly dangling sideways over Harry's knees. Chuckling a bit, Harry wished he could take a place in the sibling's classes with McGonagall or Prewett; they would likely prove quite entertaining.

Amy kicked him playfully without looking up and spoke in a clear voice, not bothering to soften the words that easily reached halfway across the hall, 'Harry, please take this farce seriously! We're supposed to be hush-hush and all that rubbish, so mind your manners.' After a short pause, she added conspiratorially, 'If you ask me, the old bat in the middle looks like a stickler for etiquette.'

Gleeful sniggering broke out between the Slytherins, though those who were faster on the uptake looked rather worried already, clearly considering how many house points the first years were going to lose this year. Harry's concentration was focused back on Leo, who still sat rigidly on the chair, brows furrowed.

'What's taking him so long...?' Amy asked eventually while stretching.

'He's been sitting there for more than five minutes already. Let's hope he won't take as long as Harry!' chirped Tracey.

'Well, I had business to attend to.' Harry said calmly, ignoring the indignant huffing of Hermione.

Finally, the brim of the hat opened and shouted for all to hear, 'Slytherin!'

A look of great annoyance briefly flickered across Leo's face, but he made his way towards Harry's group without hesitation. Once he had primly taken a seat to Amy's left side, Draco dramatically wiped his forehead with a silken cloth and spoke in a relieved manner, 'Whew! I thought we'd be stuck here for a few hours.'

'What was all that about, Leo?' Harry asked, once more choosing to ignore Draco's antics.

Leo raised both of his hands with an air of defeat. 'I'm truly sorry, Harry. I tried my best to get myself into Hufflepuff to feed you inside information and for operational access to the enemy. But the Sorting Hat insisted that my actions, while demonstrating loyalty, leaned too heavily towards Slytherin as I apparently never considered a sorting into Hufflepuff as more than a means.'

Amy laughed wildly, drawing many onlookers towards their little group. 'Well, that was bound to happen, considering we're talking about Gryffindor's magnanimously benevolent headgear. But getting bested by a hat? You're losing your touch! Consider this, maybe the hat _did_ make a mistake. I mean, people without anything to show for being sorted into Hufflepuff sounds about right, doesn't it?'

Leo instantly assumed a fierce scowl that was quite at odds with his usual calm attitude and shouted at his sister, 'Very funny! If that distasteful rag wasn't so repugnant, maybe I could've come up with something better, but half my mind was preoccupied with the thought of how many showers I'll have to take to get the stench out of my hair this night!'

Again, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. 'If Mr and Miss Lestrange would be so kind as to settle down so the rest of us don't have to wait purely for their benefit?' she asked icily.

'Lovegood, Luna!'

The sorting seemed to drag on and on after that, tormenting Harry with its sheer and utter dullness. Professor Snape sent them a few warning glances, so eventually, Harry had to rein in Amy a bit, further lessening the entertainment value offered.

When they were finally done (Slytherin had acquired a grand total of five first years), Dumbledore unhurriedly rose from his chair and beamed at his students. 'Welcome! Welcome to Hogwarts. A long, arduous journey lies behind you all, more so than usual even, and I'm sure your patience is wearing thin, so let me shorten my speech to the quintessential: Dig in!'

'Is he always like that?' Amy asked with a disbelieving look.

'Pretty much,' answered Tracey. 'Just ignore the strange beardo. But don't get on Snape's bad side! I swear he's as resentful as any ten-year-old brat.'

'Thank you, Miss Davis,' said a cold voice behind them. 'Your continued enthusiasm is duly noted.'

Tracey blanched. 'P-Professor, I meant n-'

'I'm sure,' Snape drawled leisurely. 'Detention. But since I'm such a vengeful little brat, how about we make it a detention for every Saturday the next eight weeks?'

'B-but Hogsmeade, Professor...!'

'Such shame, but I'm sure the village can survive without your senseless antics for a few weeks longer. Greengrass, Black, Professor Prewett wants a word with you.'

Tracey slumped down on her chair like a balloon running out of air.

Harry's and Daphne's attention, however, wasn't focused on their friend at all. 'Pardon me, Professor?'

'Yes, Black?'

'Did I hear that right? Prewett wants a word with _us_?'

'Maybe he's had an accident this summer and hit his head?' speculated Amy loudly.

Snape regarded her for a few seconds as if to decide whether this remark warranted disciplinary actions on his part. In the end, he just sneered uglily. 'Professor Prewett is still a teacher at Hogwarts, and I will brook no further derogatory remarks on his person. Is that clear, Miss Lestrange?'

'Yes, sir,' she said at once and with a plainly obvious fake smile.

'If you've wasted quite enough of my time now, yes, Professor Prewett wants a word with the both of you.'

'I'm not going,' said Daphne instantly, one hand clenching the table until her hand was white as snow.

'Neither am I,' added Harry. 'I will, of course, accept any detention you deem necessary.'

Snape's gaze alternated between Harry and Daphne. Then, apparently settling on Harry as the more reasonable person in this matter, he began anew, 'Be that as it may, I must at least insist that you present your case to the Headmaster in person, directly after the feast.'

'No!' Daphne rejected the offer on principle.

'Fine,' said Harry with a sigh, 'I will have a few words with the Headmaster about the topic – in your presence, Professor. Is that acceptable?'

'For now.' Without another word, Snape turned and marched towards the teacher's table, where he took a seat next to Aenor. The Defence professor winked at him sneakily.

'Oh!' escaped Amy's lips. 'I didn't know that you continue your little flirt with your teacher at school, Harry.'

'W-what?' he spluttered.

'Well, just now she winked at you. Is there something I can do for you, Daphne?' she asked sweetly.

'No, thank you,' Daphne returned insincerely. 'Are you really going to talk to Dumbledore, Harry?'

'Not really. I'm just going to say that we'll refuse no matter what they offer or threaten to do – end of discussion.'

Daphne looked visibly relieved at that. 'Oh, good.'

Without any enthusiasm, both Daphne and Harry listened to Tracey gossiping about McGonagall to Amy, who seemed genuinely interested. Leo and Draco were discussing some Quidditch match that had played out a few weeks ago, and Hermione was trying to look as if she belonged. Harry might have made an effort to integrate her a bit, but his mood wasn't really up to it right now.

'Now that we've gorged ourselves,' said Dumbledore eventually, standing up again to address them all, 'there are a few things I need to point out. Firstly, the Forbidden Forest is, as semantically savvy savants might suspect, forbidden. There is also an extensive list of items that are restricted on school grounds. Please feel free to inspect that very list in Mr Filch's office, should you find yourself wishing to avoid the temptations many of your predecessors fell prey to. Quidditch tryouts will take place as planned by the captain of your respective House team. And lastly, I wish to speak a word of warning to all of you. Until further notice, all Hogsmeade visits and outdoor classes will be postponed until further notice.'

That didn't go over well with a lot of the older students. The low murmur continued to swell until Dumbledore raised his hands in a pacifying manner. 'Now, now, no need to get angry. I do not wish to frighten you, but today was a relatively mild day in comparison to the last two weeks. It would be entirely irresponsible to let you wander the grounds alone at such a time. As soon as this troubling situation ceases to exist, all restrictions will be lifted immediately. But, please, I must urge you not to wander.' He gazed down at them, his piercing eyes resting on a few individuals who'd been particularly outspoken in their indignation. 'Some darkness is more than lack of light. Now off to bed, chop chop!'

'What was that all about?' asked Daphne, bewildered.

'It seemed like a warning to me,' said Hermione, her expression tense. 'Do you think he knows what's up?'

'He may not know, but he might nevertheless suspect. I agree with you, Hermione. Better be careful for now,' Harry agreed. He fully turned around to look at his company, already noting one absence. 'Er, where's Leo?'

'He stole away to wash, I think,' said Amy with a shrug. 'He's such a baby.'

'Yeah, he told me he couldn't bear it anymore,' complemented Draco.

'Ah, by the way, we haven't had the pleasure yet, have we?' Amy turned towards Hermione, looking her over, head to feet. 'Hm...'

'Amy, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, Amadina Lestrange,' introduced Harry, interested to see what'd happen next.

'Wow, the Mudblood!' Amy casually offered her hand.

Hermione hesitated for a second. Then, she bowed. 'Glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Lestrange.'

Amy's eyes went wide, and she looked from Hermione to Harry and finally to a smirking Draco, before she dropped her hand and showed a small grin of her own. 'I guess that one isn't so bad. Good to meet you, too, Little Miss Mudblood. I need to get going; there's still a nail that needs to be hammered in.'

Bowing curtly in return, Amy stood up and left after briefly patting Harry's arm.

'Ahem, did I do anything wrong?' Hermione asked nervously.

Draco simply laughed. 'No, you did good, Granger. She deliberately tried to bait you into shaking hands. Good thing you refused, too.'

'But why did she...'

'Aw, come on, Granger. You really still have so much to learn. If you'd taken her bait, I don't doubt she would've refused to acknowledge your existence hereafter, so that was a big deal. But her little "Mudblood" show was simply to throw you off.'

Hermione blinked. 'What? She was simply having a go at me?'

Harry stood up, sporting a small smile. 'That's the way she is, Hermione, don't let it get to you. If you have any doubt left, why would she bow back otherwise?'

Draco mimicked honking his nose in a dramatic fashion, 'I can't believe it, it's so sad how fast they grow up. Yesterday a Mudblood, today almost a real witch.'

'Very funny, Draco,' said Hermione scathingly.

'Yes, yes, amusing as you all are, let's get going, please. I don't want to talk to that...person,' said Daphne, crossing her arms uncomfortably.

'Harry, you coming?' asked Draco.

'No, I need to have a short word with Dumbledore, remember?. You guys go on ahead.'

Harry sat down again, watching his friends leave the Great Hall. This year would be amusing, he was sure. Draco seemed quite smug at how Hermione had passed that admittedly pathetically easy little test. Amy would try to show him up – or her. Harry privately suspected it wouldn't really matter to her as long as someone got embarrassed. Hermione, on the other hand, would probably like to succeed purely because she loathed losing. That being said, it was hard to be around Draco all the time without him getting at least _somewhat_ on your nerves, so having Amy there to put him in his place every once in a while might be quite refreshing.

'Ah, Harry. I'm glad you could make time for this little talk.'

Harry looked up. Gathered behind him, and lording over him due to their rather impressive frames, stood Snape, Dumbledore and Prewett.

'I realise,' continued Dumbledore with an empathic expression, 'that the situation must be quite difficult for you and Miss Greengrass, but if you could find it in yourself to at least _attend_ the le-'

'No.'

Snape kept a blank expression, and Dumbledore looked more disappointed than angry – in contrast to Prewett.

'Harry, this is a school, you can't simpl-'

'With all due respect, sir, yes, I can. I will not attend those lessons. I will not speak to that person,' he said gesticulating vaguely towards Prewett as if he were some muck on the floor. 'I will not attend his detentions if he ever proves foolish enough to try me. And neither will Daphne. I have so far refrained from working actively against the appointment, but if you push me, I will do everything I can. I need not remind you who controls a significant number of seats of the Hogwarts board. This discussion is over.'

Harry got up, turning around. Remembering the words of advice Snape had once chosen to offer, he turned around again, briefly bowing to Snape and Dumbledore respectively. 'I apologise for my insolence. Good night, Professors.'

His heart was racing. It was a bit worrying how hard it was, in the presence of Prewett, not to succumb to his rage, to the urge to draw his wand. He couldn't even bear to look at the man, and it must be a thousand times worse still for Daphne.

Lost in thought, he left the Great Hall, heading straight for the dungeons. The castle was unusually cold, as if the stormy half-nights outside were slowly draining the heat from the stone. Still trying to calm his temper, he suddenly swirled around when he heard someone clapping behind him.

'The mighty Black stands up to Dumbledore, Prewett and his Head of House. Oh, Merlin, please witness the joyful coming of your successor!'

A first year stood in the corridor behind him, flanked by a few other first years and one older student – four in total. The boy who'd called out to him wore Hufflepuff colours. He seemed to limp, and one half of his face seemed oddly tense. His wild blond hair was vaguely familiar though...

'Oh, I see you fail to recognise me. Let me introduce myself, my lord,' he spat sarcastically. 'I'm Titos Fawley. You've met my sister, of course.'

Harry's eyes took in the group before him. None had yet reached for their wands, but it was fairly obvious that this was no social call. _Well, this is annoying. I kind of promised Terese to help her brother survive around here. It's good that he's in Hufflepuff, so I won't be bothered too much, but hexing him here might leave a foul taste..._

'What do you want?' Harry asked without any inflexion.

'What I want?' he screamed hysterically, fingering his wand. 'You made my sister an outcast! My family _banished_ her. She's not even a person anymore in the eyes of the law. You did this to her. And I will have you atone for it!'

In response to his words, the others closed in.

Harry was slowly being forced towards the wall while he played with his own wand in his sleeve, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation without breaking his promise.

 _Great, now what? I'd like to avoid sending him to the hospital with a fried brain if at all possible..._

'Not so uppity now, Black? You really crossed a line, you know? I know what you did! Your family can't protect you from everything, get it?'

Five people raised their wands as one, though Harry did so rather reluctantly.

 _Well, I have to admit I didn't expect Fawley junior would be so reckless. Now, there are exactly two choices; either get beaten like a little girl or make Auntie Bella extremely proud and the Ministry equally furious._

'Oh, are you sure about that, wreck-face?'

Five witches and wizards turned their heads, and Harry let out a soft groan. He _knew_ that voice.

On the other side of the corridor, not the slightest sign of worry on her face, stood what others could only identify as a lone first-year girl with curly dark hair and a raised wand.

Most understandably–even Harry had to admit–laughter erupted.

'Wreck-face? You got spunk, little miss, but what are you gonna do? Throw that stick at me? Have they even started classes for the first years yet?' The older student, a third-year, said, chuckling impishly.

'Hey, Black! Is that your girlfriend? I thought you were in bed with Greengrass,' a boy with short and thick hair mirthfully intoned.

The Hufflepuff girl playfully swatted their leader on the shoulder. 'Wreck-face? That's kind of harsh. I mean you're not too bad looking, Fawley. Or did the other cute Slytherin really try to threaten you?'

Suddenly a streak of dirty yellow light shot lightning-fast through the corridor and collided with Fawley's face, who had obviously not expected to be attacked while surrounded by other students.

Blood gushed everywhere, and only Fawley's ongoing screams of agony were clearly discernible over the ruckus that ensued.

Harry sighed and watched Amy lowering her wand slightly, her unforgiving eyes still glued to the wildly braying Fawley. 'I don't make threats, wreck-face.'


	31. VoD: Differently normal

**Differently normal**

* * *

One night. It hadn't even been one blasted night, and already Amy was in trouble. Well, he was too, Harry considered, especially if things got blown out of proportion again. He could already see the headlines:

'B(l)ack again!

Horrible scenes of violence at Hogwarts castle!'

Funnily enough, his own notoriety might at some point be able to save Amy, as the Prophet would surely jump at every opportunity to vilify him further, likely portraying the Lestranges as his thuggish sidekicks.

His thoughts racing, Harry silently followed Professor Snape. The actual perpetrator had her hands in her pockets and was looking around curiously, inspecting the many pictures and portraits that decorated Hogwarts. Amy might as well have been sightseeing, going by her attitude alone.

Fawley and his gang were currently in the tender care of Madame Pomfrey, though the actual wounds hadn't seemed too bad, despite the bloody first impression. Unfortunately, the other Hufflepuffs had turned out to be as equally hot-blooded as their elected leader, and Harry had, with some amount of regret, rendered them harmless while their attention was focused on the girl who'd fired first. He felt neither pride nor shame at the act; it had simply been necessary to spare Amy any more trouble, as she'd have likely chosen a more painful approach to incapacitation. And that he'd attacked four people who'd turned their backs...Well, doing so was just foolish, to begin with. Needless to say, McGonagall and Snape hadn't been too impressed with the both of them towering over a thoroughly restrained bunch of crying Hufflepuffs, wands in their hands.

'Up!' Snape spat furiously, pointing towards the now revealed entrance of the headmaster's study.

Covertly, Harry brushed his hands against Amy's back. She didn't react, but when she opened the door at the top of the stairs, her eyes sought his for just one moment.

'Let me deal with this,' breathed Harry.

Amy nodded with a smile, obviously extremely happy to let him deal with the aftermath of her actions.

'Harry, Miss Lestrange, please take a seat.' Dumbledore gestured towards a pair of chairs in front of his desk, his tone grave. Harry really liked the old headmaster's office. The rows and rows of books, the strange and mysterious devices the man had collected, the magnificent desk. The room was simply grand.

'Before we start, I'd like to inform you that Poppy is currently attending Mr Fawley, and he'll be able to leave the infirmary tomorrow morning, despite our initial misgivings. Now,' he continued, sitting down and leaning back in his throne-like chair, folding his hands, 'please tell me what happened from your perspective.'

'I am very sorry about all of this, sir, but I'm afraid there isn't much to say. I was returning to the dormitories after our...conversation, when I was ambuscaded by Mr Fawley and his clique of cronies. They pulled wands on me, and Amy here arrived and shot the first spell to prevent them from hexing me to bits.'

'I see. So you mean to say that you and Miss Lestrange acted purely out of self-defence?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And they allowed Miss Lestrange to shoot the first spell because...?'

'I cannot say, sir. I can only assume they underestimated her.'

'Curious. Well, I doubt I need to relay to you their actual statements, but, as a matter of fact, Mr Fawley and his friends are of the opinion that it was you and Miss Lestrange here who attacked them first.' Dumbledore slowly leaned forward, his alert eyes watching them intently, his hands still folded in a characteristic gesture.

'Sir, of course they would. Again, with all due respect, why would they confess to anything when there's a very real chance to lay the blame at our doorstep. From a neutral standpoint, I'd wonder why four Hufflepuffs were lurking in a corridor just for me to pass by, sir.'

'They claim to have wanted a word.'

Harry allowed his genuinely felt sneer to shine through. 'Truly. And that _word_ couldn't have possibly waited until tomorrow, I presume?'

But Dumbledore didn't answer. Snape, finally stepping in, raised his voice. 'Miss Lestrange, you admit to casting the first spell?'

'Yes, to ward off an imminent attack on my friend,' she lied easily.

'Describe the situation for me.'

She shrugged, not bothering to look up, her attention focused on the dark ring she wore on her left. 'It's like Harry said. There was a lot of shouting and raised wands. Seeing Harry facing four wands, I reacted. That's really all there is to it.'

'But that doesn't explain what happened _after_ you attacked Mr Fawley, purely to safeguard Mr Black here, of course.'

Harry kept silent, causing Snape to smirk nastily. 'You see, the other Hufflepuffs were all found bound, shackled, gagged, blinded and, let's see, you normally don't forget these things... Ah yes, hallucinating they were wandering the Sahara without protection and at the mercy of the elements while they had to fend off attacks of giant snakes and man-eating vultures.'

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry could spot Amy sending him an amused smirk. 'Well,' he answered after a second of hesitation, 'I didn't want to be hexed in the back when calling for aid.'

'So it was you who restrained three fourteen and one sixteen-year-old fellow pupils with a set of spells that even Azkaban wardens might consider unduly cruel?'

'Better safe than sorry, sir,' Harry replied, not a muscle in his face moving.

'Man-eating vultures and giant snakes?' Snape repeated icily. 'Care to elaborate how them fantasising about the constant danger of death adds to your protection?'

But Harry only shrugged. 'It was a spur of the moment thing, sir. It wasn't completely unthinkable that they'd been trained to resist apprehension.'

'Vultures and snakes?' Snape repeated once more, his left eye twitching.

'I see what you mean, sir,' said Harry, his brain once more trailing behind his mouth due to his anger. 'I'll be sure to add a badger and a lion next time.'

Snape glared at him angrily, whereas Dumbledore looked personally disappointed. Amy, of course, sniggered appreciatively. 'Harry, this is a very grave situation. I'm not sure if you're helping your case,' said the aged headmaster in a sombre tone. 'Attacking a fellow student, possibly unprovoked, using dangerous curses and charms... These are very serious offences that might warrant suspension or even expulsion. They have in the past.'

'Of course, Headmaster. You'll forgive me if I remind you of what transpired just last year?' said Harry with suppressed furore. He stood up. 'If I remember correctly, I was in Poppy's superb care no less than thirty-two times. How many suspensions did you decree if we don't count that one time? None! How many expulsions? None! As a matter of fact, I can't seem to recall more than three occasions where even detentions were served.'

'Yes, Harry, but more often than not, you couldn't even name the people who attacked you,' replied Dumbledore patiently.

'Oh, how true! And the students who turned up in the infirmary the next day with mysterious bruises or strange afflictions they couldn't explain were mere coincidences. The whole dozen of them, I bet!'

'I agree they were likely involved, but you can't deny that it was also possible that they weren't. We cannot hand out punishment if there is a reasonable amount of doubt as to whether they were guilty at all.'

'And this doesn't apply to us?' Harry asked, whirling around, and staring at the man behind the desk.

'You misunderstand, Harry. Even though we would likely have handed out detentions just for a fight, the real problem here was your excessive overreaction. I cannot allow you to misuse your gifts and mistreat your schoolmates, just like I cannot tolerate you using unknown curses, Miss Lestrange.'

'I see.' Harry turned around again, thinking fast. Well, maybe he _had_ overdone it a bit, but what's the big deal? Those idiots would be fine come next morrow. They likely wouldn't even remember a thing. In contrast to that, they had originally aimed to seriously harm him in a very physical way that was unlikely to heal just as quickly.

His eyes fell on the crimson coloured bird with its spectacularly golden tail feathers. The phoenix stared back at him, his soulful black eyes unblinking and his wings slightly unfolded as if to make himself appear bigger.

 _Screw this, I won't be a pawn in their little games! If Dumbledore wants to play, I'll play!_

'A thought occurs, Headmaster,' Harry said slowly, deliberately peeling every word like a precious fruit of wrath. 'You are, of course, aware that Mr Fawley's sister admitted to being guilty of attacking the Noble House of Black, taking full responsibility, and we, graciously, allowed her to be judged in the eyes of her own family, thus ending the political feud initiated by the House of Fawley.'

'I am,' Dumbledore returned slowly.

With a superior smirk, Harry turned around. 'Well, I cannot help but wonder if it maybe wasn't _just_ Terese Fawley after all.'

Dumbledore's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Snape looked at him coldly, though Harry rather thought he could discern a small amount of grudging respect behind his facade.

'As I understand, sister and brother were very close,' Harry added victoriously. 'And his recent actions left me wondering...'

'Oh, no!' Amy burst out, a truly malicious smile playing about her lips. She was scarily fast on the uptake like that. 'But that would mean poor Terese's sacrifice, I mean confession, was all in vain.'

'Not at all, Amy,' replied Harry merciless, smiling back at her. 'But what a strange turn of events it would be if the exile would be the only surviving member of her sometime-family. Grandfather did accept her punishment, after all.' Taking a few slow steps towards the door, he said apparently absent-mindedly, 'Well, if you'll excuse me, Headmaster, Professor Snape. It seems I have to write a letter.'

Dumbledore sighed audibly. 'Please wait...Mr Black. Surely, it isn't in your interest to further pursue this senseless quest for vengeance?'

'I believe you meant to say "justice", sir,' Harry corrected him in a low voice.

'Not entirely, no. If I punish you, Miss Lestrange, Mr Fawley and his friends equally, will you be amenable to drop this matter?'

Harry turned around, his face diligently polite. 'Of course, sir. I do see how things got out of hand.'

'Indeed,' the old professor muttered. 'You will receive notice about the schedule of your detention.'

'Very good, sir.' Harry nodded to Amy, and she got up, walking towards him without a care in the world, plainly demonstrating that she'd been confident, expectant that he'd be able to get them out of trouble.

'Mr Black?' called Dumbledore again when Harry had opened the door and held it open for his cousin.

'Yes, Professor Dumbledore?'

'This is the first and last instance of this arrangement.'

'Of course, sir. Please send Mr Fawley my warmest regards.'

 _~BLVoD~_

Dumbledore and Snape watched the door close behind the pair of Slytherins. The Potions Master stood stiffly in the corner he'd positioned himself in at the very beginning, but Dumbledore seemed restless, his wrinkled hand fingering a little glass ball, his gaze unfocused.

'What do you make of this, Severus?' he asked eventually.

'Amadina Lestrange seems to have a great deal of faith in him. He, in turn, seems to feel protective of her.'

'Is it truly just faith or maybe, rather, devotion?'

'Headmaster?'

'Just a thought,' the old man said with a grim frown. 'In addition to Miss Lestrange, we learned three important things about young Harry tonight.'

Snape looked at the small crystal ball on the desk. It showed a rather smallish Slytherin second-year sweeping his wand, muttering for a few seconds, whereupon four Hufflepuffs sank to their knees, drivelling and moaning.

'Firstly, he appears to be much less like his parents than I'd hoped. Both his and young Miss Lestrange's attacks were, while not entirely unprovoked, extremely ruthless in their execution.'

Snape shrugged, unconcerned. 'Respectfully, Headmaster, I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. I'm inclined to prefer Harry Black over Harry James Potter any day.'

'Yes, but I fear you may not be entirely objective in this matter, Severus.'

'Be that as it may, even Mr Fawley's injury didn't turn out life-threatening, if, admittedly, painful. I have to say I'm rather impressed that he managed to subdue them without any physical trauma. And despite your efforts to push _my students_ ,' Snape paused long enough to give the headmaster a reproachful look, 'Fawley's naïveté and recklessness might prove even more dangerous than it was in the case of this little scuffle. I wonder if Britain wouldn't be better off if the Blacks were allowed to remove the Fawley's after all...'

'I will have Pomona speak with him. But the choice in spells is certainly...notable,' remarked Dumbledore, ignoring Snape's last comment. 'The silver lining seems to be that both Lestrange and Harry acted because they wished to assist one another. That is not the typical behaviour of a schoolyard bully.'

Snape didn't deem this worthy of a reply. In his opinion, it was fairly obvious who had been (or maybe rather attempted to be) the bully, only to find themselves out of their depth.

'Secondly,' Dumbledore continued, deep in thought, 'it seems young Harry has still been trying to downplay his abilities. Did you catch all of his spells, Severus?'

Dumbledore gently pushed the little crystal ball towards Snape. Again, Slytherin's Head of House watched the spectacle from beginning to end, his cold eyes only focused on Lestrange's and Black's wands this time around. 'After the binding...' Snape hesitated, reviewing the quarrel another time.

'An easy mistake to make. In his initial volley, he cast three charms on all the Hufflepuffs, almost simultaneously. Twelve charms in total, individually aimed, in a bit under three seconds. None really harmful, but it is the sheer amount of spells he managed to produce without fail that astounds me. More so than the inventive misuse of a modified Daydreaming Charm.'

Snape nodded wordlessly, his eyes lingering on the calm and concentrated effigy of Harry Black that was preserved before them.

'And lastly, and perhaps most worryingly...' Dumbledore got up from his seat and crossed the room. Fawkes was still staring straight ahead, his wings completely unfolded. Gently, Dumbledore's fingers caressed the plumage of the fire bird. The phoenix blinked, looking up at the headmaster, trilling softly and finally folding his wings. '...it seems Fawkes is afraid of something concerning young Harry.'

 _~BLVoD~_

'Ah, so this is the venerated Slytherin common room?' Amy idly looked around, her eyes critically examining the suite, small library, and the fireplace. They'd kept to their silence on the way back. Frankly, Harry didn't know if there was anything that he wanted or that needed to be said, but one particular thought still weighed on his mind.

'Why did you intervene, Amy?'

'What? Oh, I overheard Fawley when he stood in line. I wasn't really worried since he appeared to be such a wanker, but you can be so lenient when it comes to dealing with fools like him. Now he's learned his lesson, and he won't do it again. I've got classes with him,' she said, leaning against the wall, looking at the green ceiling with interest. 'He'll be as tame as any upstart Hufflepuff should be come December.'

Harry sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. 'Amy?'

'Yeah?'

'Promise me you won't get expelled over something stupid like this.'

She looked at him as if he'd forbidden her from sleeping in on weekends. 'Sheesh! You're such a worrywart. We got away with it, didn't we?'

But Harry didn't let up and continued to stare at her.

'Fine!' she said, throwing up her hands in defeat. 'But only because it's you who asked.'

'Thanks. I won't deprive you of your fun with Draco and Hermione, though,' Harry returned with a grin.

'They are fun, aren't they?! But who would've thought that Draco would take a Mudblood under his wing? I mean, _Draco_?'

'It's a bit complicated, I guess. And she's not too bad, actually.'

Amy shrugged. 'Whatever. Don't expect me to get buddy-buddy with her.'

Both of them gazed towards the group of seats arranged around the fire, where Draco, Hermione, and Daphne sat together while a standing Tracey entertained them with imitations of Leo wiping the chair prior to his sorting.

'I'm not. Incidentally, what was that curse you used on Fawley?'

'Not a curse,' she replied with a smirk.

Harry arched an eyebrow. 'Really? Could have fooled me.'

'It's a medical spell, actually. You know, when taming animals, it's sometimes easier to forcefully defang and regrow their teeth than it is to repair the damage.'

'You had him regrow his teeth?' Harry inquired sceptically.

'Oh, no!' Amy sniggered smugly. 'I didn't actually bother learning the regrowing bit.'

 _~BLVoD~_

The next morning, Hermione calmly skimmed through her _Prophet_ , her eyes racing up and down the columns of comments about current political developments. The word 'crisis' seemed fairly popular. Declining public support, worsening relations with the Goblins, shouting matches in the Wizengamot, still missing employees of the Ministry and political upheavals in central Europe; reading just one edition of the paper had an effect on Hermione that was comparable to the sudden announcement of surprise examinations – namely foreboding.

'Where's Leo again?' asked Daphne from her seat next to Tracey and Harry.

'You know how he always takes forever to get ready,' responded Draco, rolling his eyes.

'And Amy?'

'Dunno. Off to explore the castle, I expect.'

'She's not getting into trouble already, is she?'

'Give her some credit, Daphy!' Tracey spoke up, a smile tugging at her lips. 'She's pretty good at not being caught.'

'Too late for that.' Harry's soft words caused every head at the table to turn in his direction. These had been the first words he'd volunteered that morning, but by now even Hermione knew better than to engage him in conversation this early.

'What do you mean?'

'We had a, how to put this, altercation with a few gentlemen from Hufflepuff yesterday evening.'

'Not again,' groaned Tracey. 'You're not secretly enjoying people ganging up on you, are you?'

'Well, Amy lent a hand, so to speak,' Harry continued, passing Tracey over, 'though I had to clear up after her with the headmaster, naturally.'

'You were in the headmaster's office?' repeated Hermione, shocked. 'Are you in trouble, Harry?'

'Just a detention.' He shrugged apathetically. 'Fawley and the rest got one as well.'

'Fawley?' she echoed, her eyes widening. 'You mean...?'

'Her brother, correct. Well, let's hope this remains an isolated incident.'

Four people craned their necks to look at the Hufflepuff table, where a thoroughly disgruntled first year with bulging, inflamed cheeks sat, surrounded by murmuring and pointing housemates.

'House unity at its finest,' remarked Daphne sarcastically.

'As if I wanted to be friendly with the likes of _them_ ,' said Draco with a look of disgust.

A few minutes later, a stone-faced Snape handed out their schedules. 'Great,' exclaimed Hermione happily. 'Runes first thing after breakfast. I just hope I've prepared enough. Who else is taking Runes again?'

'You know I do, Granger,' said Draco.

'I do, too,' said Daphne.

'Runes is a sensible option,' said Harry.

'Salazar, no! I'd rather get high on fumes with Trelawney or pet a few Dragons than study some obsolete language stuff!' stated Tracey categorically. 'You guys go on and waste away your lives with the dead – I prefer having fun on this side of Styx!'

 _~BLVoD~_

Hermione stared with big eyes at Tracey, as she sat down. 'Tracey? What are you doing here? I thought you...'

Tracey grinned. 'Just kidding! I'm totally into dead stuff, old mouldy tomes, and crumbling parchment – I dig it!' When Hermione continued to look at her disbelievingly, the petite witch added, 'Okay, okay, it's about the only useful class besides Care of Magical Creatures.'

'There's still Arithmancy,' countered Harry calmly.

Tracey made a face. 'That's only for super-nerds like you and Hermione, though. Arithmancy is obscure, but runes are everywhere in daily life!'

'Indeed, they are. One point to Slytherin!' A middle-aged woman with her long puce hair in a tight bun and no-nonsense glasses stood in the door, a stack of leaflets tucked away under her arm. She put them down on the teacher's desk with an audible thump that seemed quite disproportionate to what a few sheets of paper should weigh. 'Good morning, everyone.'

'Good morning,' they echoed. Looking around, Hermione saw, to her surprise, a good deal of her year sitting in the rows behind her, certainly most pure-bloods.

'I'm Professor Babbling, and during your remaining stay at Hogwarts, I'll do my very best to make you appreciate the subtle beauty of wood-carved runes; of fiery runes etched in cold standing stones; runes adorning praise-worthy, artful weapons; runes gracing shields with an air of defiance; runes on clothing, mundane and otherwise; runes to bless houses, fields, castles, countries; runes to ward off the wicked...' Professor Babbling continued her little spiel for a few minutes, her eyes becoming increasingly misty as she went on.

'Anyway,' she coughed – eventually – in a curiously academic fashion, as if to forcefully dispel the glory of runes from her mind, 'let's begin with something fun. How about you tell me what runes are _not_ to begin our introduction. Yes, why don't you start, Weasley.'

'M-me?' Weasley looked slightly alarmed at being called out. 'Well, a language?'

'Of course, runes aren't a language,' Babbling snapped suddenly, looking highly affronted. 'Five points from Gryffindor! Runes transcend the pitiful human categorisations of systemised communication. Next!'

Tracey sniggered, raising her hand with a look Hermione could only describe as 'elfish'.

'Yes, you, Miss...'

'Davis, Professor.'

'Alright, Davis. Tell us something worthwhile that runes are not!'

Tracey sat upright, looking intently at their teacher. Then, after a suitably dramatic pause, she stood up, loudly proclaiming, 'Ugly!'

Hermione blinked. The sound of her eyelashes moving might as well have been the only sound in the entire room. The tension was extreme, especially considering the seemingly harmless and possibly somewhat nutty teacher had started the lesson by rambling, only to jump down Weasley's throat first chance.

But then, Professor Babbling nodded slowly in agreement, her eyes never leaving Tracey's. 'I would have preferred you to phrase it as "unaesthetic". Even in negation, I'd rather not have that "word",' her voice effortlessly managed to assume a tone exactly like a prim old lady might regard something filthy down the drainpipe, 'stand in the same sentence as my lovely subject, implied or explicit. But I'm pleased with your effort nonetheless. Take three well-deserved points to Slytherin!'

Tracey grinned, sitting down. Seeing Tracey's proud and chuff expression, Harry suddenly raised his hand.

Babbling looked around the room somewhat nervously. When it became apparent that Harry was the only other person to volunteer, she nodded curtly in his direction. 'Mr Black.'

Harry stood up, just like Tracey had done. 'Just an alphabet. Purely a script. Solely images. Standardised. Uniform. Completely understood. Culturally not contextual. Unknown to Muggles.' He closed his eyes for a second, ignoring both his classmates and their professor, who clung to his every word. 'Meant as a functional, casual writing system. Of completely known origin. Unable to represent numbers. Only used in Scandinavia. Frowned upon by Christian Muggles despite their closeness to traditional Nordic beliefs. Prevalently used to honour the Nordic Pantheon or to pass down tales and prose. Unable to affect magic both cast by wands, rituals or even wards, permanent or temporary, and...' Again he paused for a bit, one finger thoughtfully raised to his lips. 'No, I think that about covers it.' Without another word, he sat down.

Babbling absent-mindedly readjusted her glasses, peering intently at Harry. 'I seem to have misjudged you, Mr Black. You see, I care little for your transgressions, fictional or otherwise. I care naught for the Ministry's wishes to keep your family down, nor do I particularly care for your perspective. But, it seems you might just be one of the very few enlightened beings who truly appreciate the sublime divinity of runic graphisation. Twenty points to Slytherin!

'This I want understood: all is worthless in the face of true art. Wealth, power, ambition, intellect, friendship - I couldn't care less for any of these. The only thing that truly matters to me is your dedication to our art.'

After a second, she scowled, levitating a small stack of papers to each student. 'Of course, this being a school, there are certain limitations. You will sit a test at the end of each year, and I will grade it fairly, no matter how plebeian the custom.

'For now, we will be focusing on historical Nordic runes. You will work through these papers until the end of next week. You have until then to write an essay on the differences between the old and the new Futhark, as well as give a brief overview of noteworthy regional variants.

'For the rest of today's lesson, I'll give you a brief introduction to runes that might prove useful for those of you who've never paid attention to them until now. Because, as Miss Davis rightly said, runes are usually all around us. More common in the magical world, naturally, but the Muggles have developed a certain fondness for them, as well. But what are runes, and how did they come to be?

'Well, as Mr Black pointed out, runes are neither letters nor pictographs; neither images nor numbers. And yet they are all of this and more. Every rune has associated, innate meanings which vary subtly between different societies or tribes, regions and even religious aspects, and – of course – will change in time. For example, "sōwilō",' she raised her wand and drew two burning symbols in front of the class, 'often depicted as "ᛋ" or "ᛊ" in younger and elder Futhark respectively, is commonly likened to a bolt of lightning or ray of light, and indeed its inherent meaning is "sun" or, as a matter of fact, sowilo, which is the reconstructed Proto-Germanic term. The associated phonological value, which we will be calling transliteration henceforth, would be "s", though this sham of an explanation is hilariously oversimplified and wrong for about thirteen reasons that would only serve to confuse you even more at this point.

'In the magical world, sowilo mostly stands for power, magic itself or inspiration, whereas sowilo is particularly famous in the Muggle-world due to the insulting delusions of one Guido von List that were further misused by a certain Walter Heck, who violated this sublime piece of art to become the distinguishing mark of an elite group of para-military, mass-murdering brutes.

'Now, where did runes come from, you might ask, and the answer is: we don't rightly know. There are several theories, among Muggles and magical scholars both, and I will be explaining the most important ones briefly, though we can leave out a few of the more easily subverted Mugglish notions...'

 _~BLVoD~_

'Well, that was different.' Hermione was careful with her evaluation, craning her neck just to make sure Babbling wouldn't suddenly turn up to remind them just one more time of the glorious art that is runes.

'She's a bit of a cross between you and Harry, with a dash of Amy in there for good measure,' said Tracey with a smile.

'I'm nothing like her!' protested Hermione.

'Ridiculous!' said Harry.

'See?'

'Well, despite her being a bit of a nutjob, I guess you couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic or capable teacher.' Daphne hesitated for a second, then she added, 'Besides, I think it's a bit cute that she's so into her subject.'

'Cute? This again?' jeered Draco. 'This is school, Greengrass, and not some monthly friends club. I suppose she's capable, but I'd really prefer a teacher who's a bit more...elegant.'

'Like Rose, you mean?' demanded Daphne sharply. 'I couldn't help noticing how you grovelled before her last year.'

'Anyone who's a bit less uptight than McGonagall or Snape is a good one in my books! Except for Rose, obviously,' opined Tracey forcefully.

Harry, who, while by far not the tallest of the group, had still quite a bit more height than Tracey, was barely able to get a glimpse of a certain person that walked in their direction. Suppressing a smile, he turned towards the smallest of the group with a fake expression of genuine puzzlement. 'Come on, Tracey! Aenor isn't too bad. What do you even have against her?'

'WHAT?' cried Tracey in disgust. She was about the only girl Harry knew who could pull off a full-blown sneer that still looked quite dinky. Daphne shot him a look but didn't say anything. Maybe Tracey should've paid attention to her sister-in-arms, or maybe to the fact that Draco looked positively delighted, or maybe that Hermione seemed to covertly try to get her attention.

But she didn't.

' _Aenor_? Open your eyes, Harry! She's the worst disgrace to ever walk these halls, I tell you. She dresses like a strumpet. She speaks and smiles like a fancy-shmancy princess. She's vicious, annoying, arrogant and a total fake. I _hate_ her! I really, really, really hate her!' After a short pause to draw breath, she asked, 'Why are you all sniggering?'

'Er, Tracey? You should really turn around,' Hermione advised her with an apologetic look.

And Tracey did turn around. Behind her, grinning like a shark, stood Professor Rose.

'I, uhm, I... Oh, damn it. Not again!'

'Detention, Miss Davis. Next Saturday, meet me at my office, I'm sure we'll find something to needlessly occupy you for a few hours.'

'I can't, Professor,' Tracey mumbled angrily.

'I'm sorry?'

'I said, I can't, Professor! I already have a detention with Professor Snape.'

'Oh, you've been busy, have you? Let's make it the Saturday after that, then.'

Tracey cursed under her breath, muttering something inaudible.

'I see we have no luck here. Mr Black?'

'Yes, Professor?'

Aenor smiled sweetly at Harry. 'Which day on your schedule besides Saturday and Sunday allows you the most free time?'

'Thursday, I guess, Professor,' Harry returned, eagerly watching Tracey squirm.

'Splendid! I shall await you next Thursday then, Davis. Let's see... For about as long as Professor Snape deems it prudent to keep you, too. I'm afraid you really need to adjust your behaviour towards authority figures. But I'm more than willing to sacrifice my and, more importantly, your free time to help you out. To the rest of you, good day. I'll be seeing you Monday in class.'

She nodded towards Harry, who grinned back, and then she was gone.

'I-I'm sorry, Tracey! I tried to get your attention but you...'

'You totally deserved that one,' said Draco with a smirk.

'It was delightful!' added Harry, his eyes closed in silent enjoyment.

'Yup, that one's on you, Tracey.' When Tracey looked at her best friend in horror, Daphne just shrugged before she added, 'You really got on my nerves yesterday!'

'Et tu, Daphne?' Tracey moaned dramatically. 'I'll never get any schoolwork done with two detentions a week! That evil-'

'Tracey!' cried Hermione reprovingly.

'Defence Professor,' amended Tracey with what looked like near-physical pain, 'must have known that she'd get to ruin my Sunday too if she and Snape keep me long enough on Thursday and Saturday!'

'Don't worry, we'll help you,' said Draco with a worryingly kind smile.

'Really? Thanks, Draco!'

'Don't worry about it, Tracey.' Harry shared a small smirk with Draco. 'We'll be sure to remind you of your detentions every time they're due.'

 _~BLVoD~_

When Hermione finally returned to the common room from the library later that night, she was extremely happy to have followed Draco's suggestion to not pick up more than two or three electives this year. There was a definite increase in the work required, and this was barely one day in.

Tired but willing to tackle at least the essay Professor Flitwick had set them, she walked to the chairs by the fire and chose one at random.

'Cheering Charm, Cheering Charm,' she mumbled, rummaging in her bag.

'Excuse me? You are Hermione Granger if I'm not mistaken?'

Hermione looked up. In front of her, wearing neatly pressed robes of plain black, his dark hair almost maddeningly rigorously parted, stood Amy's little brother. 'Er, yes?' she asked, jumping up. She held in the urge to twitch or offer her hand as his cold grey eyes scrutinised first her boots, then her robes, and finally her hair, whereupon he seemed to sigh a bit.

'My name is Leandros Lestrange, but you may call me Leo.'

'I'm glad to make your acquaintance. Hermione Granger,' she replied, bowing low enough to demonstrate her willingness to learn without making her look like a fool – she hoped.

His eyes followed her bow. Then, he sighed again, offering a curt bow in return. 'Well, I suppose it could've been worse. Have you seen Harry or Draco?'

'I think they're in their dormitory,' she replied, subtly trying to evade Leo's unblinking, judging gaze.

'I see. Thank you for your time.' Once again, he inclined his head before he walked off.

 _They're supposed to be siblings? While Amadina might be Tracey's evil twin, Leo seems more like someone who believes in authority. Or did I get that wrong? How can they possibly be siblings?!_

Hermione was still nibbling on her quill, her essay forgotten in front of her when Tracey let herself fall into another chair next to her. 'I'm beat,' she complained in her high-pitched voice. 'What's with everyone messing with me today?!'

'I, er, think you annoyed them a bit during the train ride, you know,' said Hermione with a little smile.

'What?! But that was all in good fun! No need to get me into trouble like that – at all!' Tracey hit the armrest in frustration. 'Anyway, what are you up to?'

'What? Oh, well, nothing really. I wanted to get a start on Flitwick's essay but something came up.'

'Nice! We can do it together; we'll be done in no time, and I might even have an evening off this week.'

'No,' said Hermione thoughtfully, oblivious to Tracey's disappointed and somewhat pitiable look of helplessness. 'I think I'd rather not. You know, Leo's just introduced himself.'

'Oh?' asked Tracey, her expression changing within a fraction of a second. 'What did you think?'

'He's...okay? I mean, he wasn't as hostile as Amadina, but he seemed a bit, well, cold?'

'Nah, don't let it worry you; he's always like that. Unless he's on an adventure, of course.'

'Adventure?' Hermione repeated, confused.

'Exactly!'

Tracey grinned, and Hermione got the impression that her informant didn't want to spoil the surprise. 'Anyway,' Hermione began anew, following up on something she'd observed quite a while ago. 'What are their nicknames?'

'Excuse me?' asked Tracey, blinking furiously.

'Well, you call Greengrass "Daphy" or "Sweetie", and, for some reason, you insist on calling me "Honey". I assume that's not something that only applies to the both of us, right? So, what are their cutesy pet names?'

Tracey's eyes positively sparkled. 'You're, like, only the fourth to ever pick up on that, Honey! Leo is Lucky!' she declared proudly.

'Lucky?' Hermione echoed, just to be sure.

The small witch sniggered at that. 'You'll learn to understand.'

'And his sister?'

'Oh, I'm so glad you asked! Amy is-'

Without a warning, a hand shot out from behind Tracey and pressed itself firmly over her lips. 'If you tell her, we're going to have _words_ , Tracey,' Hermione heard the elder Lestrange growl.

Tracey nodded pointedly, and the hand was withdrawn. 'And Amy is...just Amy! Yes, who'd have thought! Sometimes, simple is best, don't you think?'

Hermione smiled a brittle little smile at her, not sure what to make of that, her eyes following Amadina as she yawned and entered the dormitories. 'And Draco and Harry?'

'I'm currently under contract not to reveal Draco's super cool alias,' she said very stiffly, saluting cutely.

'He's paying you not to tell others?' Hermione asked in-between her laughs.

'He sure is!'

'And Harry?'

'Doesn't have one,' said Tracey promptly, her smile faltering a bit.

'Why not?' inquired Hermione, somewhat taken aback.

The other girl shrugged impassively, turning around just as Leo dragged the pair of Harry and Draco down the stairs and out of the common room, while the prefects pointedly chose to look the other way. 'Didn't feel like it.'

 _~BLVoD~_

'Come on, guys! I need you to come with me. I've found something extremely interesting!' said Leo excitedly.

'And what exactly would that be?' Harry asked carefully.

'I'll have to show you! Come on, let's get going!'

'Are we really going to follow Leo on one of his wild-goose chases? Through the castle and in the dead of night?' Harry asked warily. 'That hardly seems wise.'

'Sure seems like it.' Draco smirked at him. 'I've kind of missed it, too, you know. You set out to find the funny bird with the strangely coloured wings only to stumble upon the Chimeras that had escaped from some kind of asylum. I don't know anyone else who can make these kinds of things happen on a regular basis!'

'That's hardly fair,' Leo pointed out with a scowl, taking another turn towards the staircase that'd lead them to the main level. 'It was only that one Chimera!'

Harry pinched his nose, gripping his wand extra tightly for whatever there was to come. 'Let's just get it over with. So? Where are we going?'

'The Forbidden Forest, naturally,' explained Leo as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

'WHAT?' shouted Draco, suddenly looking a great deal less glib.

'Leo, you did listen to what the geezer said at the feast, didn't you?' asked Harry in a defeated tone, dreading the answer.

'Of course, I did,' he said, smiling enthusiastically at him. 'That's what piqued my curiosity, after all. I mean, what if I was to get lost in there at some point in time? What if I had to attend detention in there because I got framed by Draco again?'

'I don't think they do detentions in the _Forbidden_ Forest, you know,' interjected Harry reasonably. 'Not entering the forest seems the whole point of the "forbidden" part, wouldn't you agree?'

'And you realise we could get detentions because we're out of bounds and out after curfew?' Draco asked as they peered around another corner, checking for teachers or prefects.

'Please don't be ridiculous, Draco. This is a school project! How can we be out of bounds while preparing ourselves for the benefit of our education?!' Leo insisted earnestly.

'Rather easily, it seems,' remarked Harry dryly.

Two corridors away from the main gate, Filch's pet pest was, unwelcome and detested, stalking the castle, on the prowl for any breach of the rules.

'I say we kick her,' said Draco in a low voice and with a mean smile.

'Jinx,' voted Leo. 'It'll get us Filch of our backs if he's worried sick, too. Is it true he's a squib?'

'Dunno,' replied Draco. 'But I've heard the rumour.'

'I think he is.' Harry carefully aimed his wand. 'I'm for jinxing, too, by the way.' He kneeled down, carefully supporting his wand arm with his left so that he wouldn't miss the feline that was a good eighty yards down the corridor. ' _Silencio_! _Diminuendo_!' he whispered.

Like a targeted, multi-coloured twin-bolt of lightning, the two charms raced through the darkness and hit the cat dead centre on her forehead. Without delay, the size of Filch's constant companion seemed to decrease more and more until it wasn't possible to make it out in the shadowy corridor anymore.

'Nice one! I bet Filch will go mental when he can't find her!' yelled Draco, causing both Harry and Leo 'Shush!' at him.

'How long will the shrinking last?' asked Leo as they hastened towards the front portal.

'Not too long. I don't want Dumbledore on my case,' Harry replied.

'A pity. That filthy flea-ridden bedside carpet looks better now that she'd fit into a matchbox.'

'Well, if Filch doesn't get Dumbledore, Flitwick or McGonagall to sort it out, it might still last until next week, so look forward to Filch's outbreak in the Great Hall tomorrow! I somehow doubt Snape or Aenor would bother.'

Draco chuckled appreciatively. Leo, however, looked at him questioningly. 'Aenor?'

'Not you, too!' soughed Harry. 'She's alright, okay? And, no, it's not because she looks like a goddess descended from the heavens!'

'She does though, doesn't she?' commented Draco with an obscene grin. 'Unlike those clumping female friends of ours.'

'Come on, Draco. Daphne's not too bad. As long as she keeps her temper, she's quite graceful actually,' said Leo, just as they cleared the last corner.

'But she always does lose it, so I don't see your point,' the Malfoy heir shot back, looking unconvinced.

'Can the both of you shut up now? This is no camping trip!' snarled Harry.

'Yes, sir,' drawled Draco sarcastically.

The main door was, thankfully, only locked from the inside. Just to be on the safe side, Draco made a temporary copy of the key while they were at it.

'Good one,' said Harry. 'That is bound to come in handy.'

'It'll vanish in a few hours, though.'

'Oh, in that case, you can use a mould of wax to get a negative. With that, you can cast a new key with some easily heated material like lead or tin. It won't even take ten minutes.'

Both Harry and Draco looked at Leo.

He shrugged, rubbing his head embarrassedly. 'Living with my family rubs off at some point – you can't help it, trust me.'

The door opened with a creak that Harry was sure was bound to wake the whole castle. With a swish of his wand, he silenced the old hinges.

'Nice!'

The weather outside was just as friendly and welcoming as Harry remembered it. Fiendish gales soaked his robes within seconds, every new gust containing half the lake's worth of water, by his rough estimate. Speaking of the lake, the constant flashing of lightning illuminated the lake every few seconds, and Harry's brow creased with worry when he saw the entire surface made up of powerful eddies.

'This is nuts!' shouted Draco over the howling of the wind.

' _Impervious_!' Leo tapped their clothes with the tip of his wand.

'Oh! Should've thought of that one,' admitted Harry.

'Let's just get the worst out of the way please,' pleaded Draco. 'Is it really such a brilliant idea to wander into a forest during a thunderstorm?'

'Please!' said Leo, waving a hand. 'The chances of getting hit are still really low. And even then, you have a good chance of surviving the first strike.'

Draco made a face.

'What's going on Draco? I thought you were frolicking, serenely looking forward to our trip with Leo?'

'I think I'm reconsidering right now,' Draco returned, looking somewhat pale.

'Come on, guys. This way!' Leo led them towards the forest, the rural trail now hardly more than a sea of mud. Draco and Harry waded through the grime, both smirking when they realised that Leo was casting cleaning charms on his shoes and robes every few seconds.

In Hagrid's hut shone no light, nor did Harry hear the friendly barking of that mutt of Hagrid's. Either they were incredibly lucky, or Hagrid had, possibly at the behest of Dumbledore, sought refuge in the castle, too.

With one last sprint, they finally reached the edge of the forest.

'I know this isn't the time, guys, but I've heard all manner of rumours about the Forbidden Forest! Like werewolves, vampires, and stuff lurking in here!'

'Those are just tales and legends, Draco,' said Leo.

'So, what exactly are we here for, Leo?' asked Harry, seeking shelter from the rain under a tree he judged considerably smaller than others nearby.

'Look at this!' Slowly, he opened his hand. An incredibly white thread of such thinness that it was only visible because Leo had curled it up into a ball lay in his palm.

'That's unrefined Acromatula silk,' observed Harry calmly, gripping his wand.

'Oh, no! No, no, no, no!' cried Draco. 'Just no!'

'Well spotted, Harry. I've found quite a bit of it next to Hagrid's hut. I think he gets it from within the forest. I had a first look and found some old webbing.'

'And you want us to...what?' asked Draco in despair, his eyes seeking out the comforting shadows of Hogwarts.

'Well, have a look, of course. You're with me, right, Harry?'

'Since we're here already, might as well have a look. But let's be careful with this one.'

'Harry,' asked Draco with the voice of someone rummaging through his every pocket for the fourth time in search of his lost keys, 'can you actually _deal_ with an Acrumantula?'

'Well, two or three? I think so. If there's a whole nest with a broodmother, you better run as fast as humanly possible.'

'That's not entirely reassuring...'

'Oh, come on, Draco. Where's your lust for adventure?!' Leo urged him on.

'I knew I should've gone to bed early today,' whined Draco, pointing his wand in front of him, the tip illuminating the patch ahead.

Strangely enough, the forest seemed to dampen the weather to some effect. Five minutes in, the thunder was decidedly more bearable, and another ten minutes later, they couldn't hear it at all. The only thing that didn't change was the darkness. It wasn't pitch black, but Harry knew which of the two he'd have preferred. In the forest, there was always a bit of moisture that just barely reflected the light from above on a leaf, or, even worse, the eye of some creature in the underbrush.

The silence, on the other hand, was complete.

It was as if the ancient and magical forest was shutting all outside noises out, screening them from Harry, Draco, and Leo. The occasional breaking twig and their, due to the uncomfortably sticky air, increasingly heavy breathing were their only company during a journey through the dark, unknowable, impenetrable forest that continued to hide all of its inhabitants. Half an hour into the forest, Draco started complaining about wishing the lightning back so they could see _something_. 'This is crazy!' he hissed, looking around nervously. 'Are you sure we're still on the right track, Leo?'

'Positive. We need to leave the track when we pass by two ancient yew trees that grew into one another. I think that's about five minutes from here.'

The path they'd followed so far seemed to be thinning with every step they took, until, eventually, they had to actively look for it. 'That's them!' exclaimed Leo, pointing towards two magnificent trees that stood beside the way. For a moment, Harry rather suspected he saw a Bowtruckle vanish when Draco's wandlight fell on it, but he couldn't be sure. Maybe it was just hopeful imagination.

'This way, now.' Leo happily left the trail and disappeared into the thicket within seconds. Harry followed, his wand in his hand. Draco looked from the trail, as pitiful as it might have been, to the coppice his friends had just entered. With one last regretful groan, he raced after them.

'Careful. I don't think it's much further. Look for webbing in the trees or any signs of movement. Try not to make too many sounds; even though spiders don't have ears, they can still hear fairly well.'

'How does that work?' asked Draco disgruntled.

'Fine hairs on their legs,' added Leo.

'If that's true, we're in luck; thanks to the moisture and rain, their ability to sense vibrations in the air should be impeded.' Harry crouched down, lighting his own wand just enough to illuminate the ground in front of him. 'Still, better be careful.'

As silently as possible, the three Slytherins sneaked through the woods. Being quiet in the middle of a wild forest wasn't exactly an easy feat, though, especially in the dark. Leo moved like a jaguar, always finding some spot that wouldn't disturb any branches, leaves or stones. Harry and Draco fared noticeably worse, their feet getting stuck in some crevice or root or losing grip on the treacherously slippery wet and moss-covered earth.

'Stop!' called Harry after a while. 'How come it's so silent? Even during the night, we should at least have heard a bird or something. Leo?'

Leo frowned, turning half-way around, leaning against a big stone. 'I'm not sure. Now that you mention it, it does seem odd, especially for this forest. There's supposed to be centaurs and all manner of things in here.'

'Werewolves?' Draco demanded suddenly.

'Well, nobody has ever reported back stumbling upon a werewolf.'

'And how many people get lost in here and don't report back?' hissed Draco urgently.

'Some. But don't conc-' A sudden jet of fierce orange light passed him by half an inch. Confused, Leo looked at Harry's outstretched wand. 'Harry?'

'Calmly step away from there and towards us, Leo. Slow and steady.'

The younger Lestrange looked completely perplexed for a second, then he obeyed without further question. When he'd finally reached a waxen Draco and Harry, who had a drop of sweat running down his face, he turned around.

What he'd taken for a big, lumpy stone, was, in fact, not a stone at all – it was much, much worse in every way possible. It was a very, _very_ large and very hairy spider with mandibles so thick they could probably decapitate all three of them at once. Thankfully, it didn't move.

'I think it's dead,' whispered Harry eventually.

'Look how big that monster is!' whimpered Draco, his wand trembling. 'That beast's easily twelve feet long! Are you satisfied now, Leo?'

'What are you talking about, Draco? This is where it gets fun!' Without a care in the world, Leo approached the dead king of spiders again. 'I think it's a near full-grown specimen. There really might be a nest of them here. Incredible!'

'Anything else you can tell?' asked Harry, who, despite Draco's pleading hissing noises, walked over too.

'Not really. Only that it seems to have tripped.'

'Tripped?'

'Yes, well, one of its legs is injured. If I didn't know better, I'd say it died while in flight.'

Silence seemed to press in on them from all directions.

'What could possibly kill an Acromantula?!' asked Draco in a screechy voice that vaguely reminded Harry of Tracey.

'And there's something else...' Leo took a step back, and then, to Draco's horror, kicked the spider with all his might. Before Draco could do more than scream in terror though, the corpse of the arachnid collapsed back upon itself. 'That's a bit unsettling,' Leo said over Draco's ongoing screams of dread.

'What is it?' asked Harry, offhandedly swishing his wand to silence Draco.

'It doesn't have a drop of blood left in its body. There are predators that suck the blood of their victims, but, going by the glint of the eyes, the state of the wounds and the temperature of the body, I'd say this spider hasn't been dead for more than an hour.'

Draco pleadingly shook Harry's robes, mouthing 'Vampire!' with all his might.

'Vampires don't feed on spiders, Draco,' said Leo calmly.

Eventually, Harry grew tired of the shaking and cancelled his charm.

'That's totally not the point!' disagreed Draco, obviously willing to get as much information out of his mouth as possible before he was silenced again. 'I don't care if it's a vampire or something else. This is nasty! Please let's go back...'

'We've come this far,' began Leo, looking at Harry.

'Well, might as well get to the bottom of this,' Harry agreed with a shrug. 'Plus, it might turn out worth knowing what killed the Acromantula.'

Draco fell to his knees, hitting the soft earth with his fists. 'I don't believe you guys! How come the both of you are not in Gryffindor?!'

'How come you're not in Hufflepuff?' returned Harry with a smirk.

'WHAT?' shouted Draco, scandalised. 'Take that back, Harry!' But Harry only laughed, running after Leo, who'd already marched on. 'Take it back!' Draco screamed, running after them.

Slowly, the sound of the outside world was being restored, despite them still being very much surrounded by nothing but all manners of plants and fungi on every side. To Draco's and even Harry's increasing concern, the direction they were walking continued to be extremely, suspiciously empty. The weather, Draco commented sarcastically at some point just for something to say, at least seemed willing to calm them down with what it currently did best: renewed glistening bolts of lightning that blinded them for seconds and the roaring thunder that followed without delay. Despite the relatively thick roof of leaves and trees and even giant ferns, rain still managed to make their journey even more uncomfortable. And yet there was still not a single trace of any animal or beast in sight.

A few minutes later, they stumbled upon the apparent reason for the renewed increase in volume – a giant clearing. Whistling gales bent the trees, and lightning struck the centre of the clearing with such tremendous might that the earth trembled even a hundred yards away, dirt and mud spraying high into the air. The air above seemed to swirl in a worryingly circular manner.

'Merlin...' whispered Harry, awed. He had really good eyesight in the dark, and the fraction of a second had been enough for him to fully comprehend the scene before him.

'What?' asked both Leo and Draco.

'Draco?'

'Yes, Harry?' Malfoy responded in a husky voice and without any of his usual cool. He'd lost it somewhere along the way.

'I want you not to scream.' With an exaggerated forward swish of his wand, a giant bulb of light left his wand and travelled through the air towards the middle of the glade.

Every inch between the trees, every possible space was filled with webbing. The trees, the grass, even the big hole in the ground. But that wasn't what worried Harry anymore.

What really _did_ worry him where the fifty lifeless carcasses of a whole Acromantula colony that hung bloodless and warningly in the webs or lay on the floor, their sightless eyes wide in horror, their legs bent in obvious, desperate attempts to flee.

'I suggest we leave – NOW!'


	32. VoD: Lead in the dark

**Lead in the dark**

* * *

Dozens and dozens of Acromantulas dangled in their webs, many more were strewn about the ground – their thin, long limbs twisted in black despair. And in the centre of it all, a giant monster of a spider with a twenty-foot leg span, bristly hair like that of a boar, eyes as big as Harry's head, and pincers fit to crush the Knight Bus. A heap of almost equally large spiders lay scattered around it – all motionless, all eyes wide with horror, all irrefutably dead. The air was electrified, sizzling, tingling on Harry's skin. Then, lightning struck the centre of the pit, hitting the body of the gigantic, elephant-sized spider.

Vile-smelling fumes of burnt hair and death wafted towards them, and Harry coughed before he cast a _Bubble Head Charm_ on all of them.

He was peripherally aware that Draco had fallen into the mud in panic, eyes wide with fright.

A prickling sensation crept down Harry's spine. This all felt...familiar – in a distinctly bad way.

'Leo, we need to go!' he shouted over another roar of thunder.

'Can't we have a look? We might be able to fig-'

'Leo, I have a really, _really_ bad feeling about this. We leave, NOW!'

Leo turned towards him, his expression puzzled. 'Alright,' he buckled regretfully after a second.

'Grab Draco!'

Together, they dragged a whimpering Draco, who seemed to be frozen with fear, by the arms and out of the clearing until, quite suddenly, both rain and lightning ceased.

With a presentiment of danger, Harry tried to keep going, but Leo came to a reluctant halt. They both shot a glance back towards the spiders' glade, but it was completely submerged in darkness once more – unnaturally so.

'What in the-'

A curling bolt of violet light came down with vengeance, immediately followed by a ferocious gust of dire force. It hit them in their backs, and they only just managed to keep standing because they were both holding on to the currently unresponsive Draco, and even still they were pushed at least ten feet before they came to a grinding halt thanks to Leo managing to get a hold of a dead trunk. A few of the smaller spiders were tossed around by the sudden gale and smashed with a terrible thud against the trees surrounding the spiders' lair.

 _:::Run, little Thoughtling! Flee – or perish with them!:::_

Evil whispers rode the wind: stomach-turning screeching sounds, malevolent cackling, cries of agony, pleas for death. They danced in Harry's ears, lingered, mingled with his own thoughts until he subconsciously shut them all out.

'What in Slytherin's name is that?' shouted Leo, staggering and, for once, notably worried and pale, covering one ear with his free hand.

'Don't waste time! RUN!'

And they ran. As best as possible, they half ran, half dragged themselves away from the clearing, trying their best to avoid getting squashed against the trees by the unrelenting gales that tore at their backs, unearthly howling following their escape. They heard several of the ancient trees groaning, creaking under the weight and pressure of this foulest of winds. Azure lightning struck the clearing behind them at least twice for every beat of their frantic hearts, the earth trembling in fear with every hit like the drums of the abyss.

They ran, desperately, stumbling, slipping, crawling in the mud as best they could, as fast as they could – away, by any means, wind ringing in their ears like mocking laughter. Through the wood, hair getting stuck in sticky plants, ankles getting sprained, clothes being reduced to tatters – it didn't matter.

Eventually, when the gales had completely subsided, they finally dared to take a short break, seeking shelter in the shadows of a gnarled, wide lime. Harry collapsed into the verdant ferns and moss covering the area around the trunk.

Some bird cawed in the trees above them. It was a serenade to Harry's ears.

Despite the exhaustion, despite his emerging headache, he tried to focus on every detail of the last few minutes, trying to preserve them for later. _Wind in the middle of a giant forest. Violet lightning. A whole colony of horrified Acromantulas dead within moments and without any sign of struggle. The whispers... I really wish it could've just been a Werewolf – or even another Chimera!_

'I told you so!' Draco squeaked, wiping the mud from his face, looking green and sick. 'I fucking told you so! This forest is bad business! What the hell was that? They were all dead!'

'I don't know,' admitted Leo, wheezing. Leo was by far the fittest of the three, but dragging Draco almost by himself while keeping up with Harry had left him winded. 'Whatever it was, I think it let us go.'

'Are you out of your mind?' shouted Draco. 'We nearly got crushed to death by that wind!'

'Yes, but the Acromantulas didn't get done in by the wind, Draco. No, I think they got killed by something magical, and only then did whatever it was feed. But I can't for the life of me think of a native creature that could do such a thing.'

'And those voices in the wind?' inquired Draco with a shudder. 'They weren't like anything I know!'

'So you heard them, too? I have no clue, and it's already killing me! Harry, ideas?'

'Hm?' Harry opened his eyes again, concentrating on his friends who looked at him with concern. A few ants were marching in lines over his hand, but he just couldn't bring himself to move or even care.

'Are you alright?'

'Fine. Just a headache. And feeling drowsy,' he added after a while.

'You didn't get stung by something, did you?' asked Leo seriously, his eyes sweeping over him, searching for injuries. 'I have a bezoar packed, just in case.'

'No, I don't think so,' Harry replied wearily. 'Come on, let's get back to Hogwarts.'

'The sooner we get out of this madhouse of a forest, the better!' Malfoy helped him up and set a brisk pace, not looking back once. They didn't speak on their way back, though Draco did cheer a bit when they finally found the trail again.

 _~BLVoD~_

As silently as possible, they crept through the castle, Leo in the lead, Harry trailing behind. Once they had found themselves back at the threshold of Hogwarts Castle (Draco had knelt down and shed a few tears of joy), Leo and Harry had at least superficially cleared them of mud, water and sweat.

With a bit of luck, and they managed to find their way inside without stumbling upon any teachers. Flint, proudly wearing his prefect badge, glared at them a bit when he spotted them shambling around the entry hall, but, in the end, just pointed angrily in the direction of the common room.

'Well, that was fun,' intoned Leo, upbeat, as they made the last turn. 'A good start to our first week, wouldn't you say?'

'Sometimes, I really can't help hating you, Leo,' snarled Draco angrily.

'Come on. I know you'll be bragging about it to everyone who'll listen come tomorrow.'

'That doesn't mean I can't hate you for it right now!'

Harry wobbled a bit, flicking his wand one last time to remove a spot of dirt they'd left in their wake.

'I'm so looking forward to taking a shower!' said Leo. 'Good thing it's Saturday tomorrow.' He came to a halt when they reached the seemingly inconspicuous bit of wall. 'Heritage!' he whispered, looking around surreptitiously. As soon as the words left his lips, the wall in front of them crumbled, revealing the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeons.

The common room was, thankfully, empty – almost, that is. Huddled on a sofa near the fire, wrapped in two colourful blankets, sat Daphne, her eyes fixed on the entrance. She jumped as soon as she saw them, starting a mad dash and tackling Harry with a fierce embrace. 'Yuck! You look like an Auror after basic drills. Where were you? What the hell came over you?! Dumbledore said it was dangerous outside...'

With a lopsided smile, Harry tried to peel his cousin off him. 'We're fine. You'll get yourself dirty, Daphne.'

'Too late!' she returned with a triumphant smile, ignoring his somewhat plain attempts to break off the hug. 'I was really worried, you idiot,' she mumbled somewhat accusingly.

'Well, we'll leave you to it,' said Draco with a grin.

'My shower's waiting. See you guys tomorrow.'

Daphne glared after Leo's back for a while. 'Why didn't you tell me you were off on some nonsense quest with Leo?'

'I, eh, didn't know, to be honest,' he returned sleepily, giving up on his attempts to break free for now.

'I only found out because Tracey saw you leaving the common room with Leo and Draco,' she continued with a pout.

'I'm sorry. If I had known beforehand, I would have told you.'

'Good, that makes things easier,' she said, exhaling, her body losing a bit of tension. 'Because I'll be accompanying you from now on.'

Harry blinked, his overwrought mind struggling to keep up. 'Er, when you mean accompanying...'

'I'm not taking any more chances! You always end up in some ridiculous situation, in way over your head. I can't stand waiting on the sidelines anymore... So I'll be coming with you – end of discussion! I doubt I'll end up being more useless than Malfoy anyway.'

Harry blinked, staring down at Daphne's resolute expression. _Well, it's true Grandfather told me not to do everything by myself, and she_ is _fairly handy with her wand..._

'Okay.'

Daphne looked up, her eyes wide with surprise, plainly having anticipated him arguing, her mouth already open to protest. Then, she smiled at him like a child on the morrow of a yearned-for birthday. 'Thanks! Now, off you go to take a shower. You reek! Where _were_ you?'

'Let's talk about that tomorrow.' Slowly, he disentangled himself from Daphne's embrace. She didn't protest this time. She just stood there, beaming at him.

'But I'm tired enough to seriously consider the sofa here right now. Stairs are a hassle.'

'Go take that shower and then off to bed. I don't want you falling asleep on me another time. I don't think I could take Tracey's needling again.'

'Too tired.' He yawned.

'Move already,' she ushered him good-naturedly and with a teasing smile. 'Unless you want me to drag you up into _our_ shower room. I'll have to take a bath too, now that you've draggled my clothes.' She took a step to the side, pointing towards the girls' dormitory as if inviting him up.

'Er, no. I'm fine, thanks.' He hastily waved at her, retreating towards the boys' dormitory.

Daphne still stood in the common room, her eyes following his retreating form. 'Good night, Harry,' she whispered, drawing the fluffy blankets even closer.

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry awoke to the sound of chatter from an excited crowd down in the common room. He blinked drowsily. How people could be so damnably chipper in the morning he had no idea. After a few moments of trying to shut out the noise, which included the tested method of pressing the pillow over his ears, he admitted defeat, groggily and angrily getting up. The outside was as dark and glum as it'd been for the last few days, and the other beds were empty. The door, however, stood ajar.

 _No wonder those effing hooligans are so loud..._

Slowly, tediously, Harry dressed. He felt as if he'd done a marathon the day before, all his limbs aching and aggravatingly heavy. His thoughts felt sluggish too, but that might just have been the effect of being woken so rudely. Also, his hair was strangely sticky.

'Can't they keep it down in the mornings?' he complained angrily to the empty room.

Five minutes later, dressed and finally somewhat awake, he descended the stairs to the common room. A lot of boys, mostly around his age, were gathered around a notice that had been put up at some point in time.

Grumbling angrily, he walked over to have a look.

' _The Slytherin Quidditch team needs YOU_ _¹!_

 _Extra credits, personal liberties, eternal fame, and glory await!_

 _Tryouts on Sunday, 10 a.m._

 _¹In case you're male; fit; of good build; can get your hands on a racing broom not older than two years; are willing to give up three days each week for practice; consider yourself an above-average flyer; don't mind adhering to an already established team hierarchy; aren't squeamish or a total tosser._ '

Harry raised an eyebrow. That was it? He liked flying, but the requirements were a bit ridiculous, especially considering Slytherin had on average between five and ten students a year. The other houses might get away with such demands, but Slytherin, surely, couldn't afford to be so picky. Why they would disallow girls just on principle was beyond him. Maybe for team-building reasons? Also, speaking from his experience, _most_ in Slytherin were guilty of being a bit of a tosser. Well, everyone except him, obviously.

He shrugged, striding towards the exit. _Not my problem._ _Maybe breakfast isn't over yet._

Harry passed a lot of students on the way to the Great Hall, which served to somewhat lift his spirits a bit. If the sheep flocked towards the Great Hall, a meal was surely about to be served.

Leo, Tracey, Daphne and Hermione sat together, waving enthusiastically at him, and so he made his way towards them, squeezing through the mass of his excitable and rather noisy schoolmates. At least his headache had improved a bit.

'Harry, there you are!' said a thoroughly relieved-looking Daphne, looking him up and down with strangely out-of-place worry.

'Er, yes? Good morning.'

'Are you alright, Harry?' asked Hermione earnestly.

Harry looked at them, confused. 'Look, you know I don't like getting up early, but I even got here in time for breakfast, so what's the b-'

'Harry,' Leo interrupted, 'this is dinner. You've slept through the whole day.'

Harry stared at his cousin. 'Excuse me?'

'Yep, slept through the whole day, you did. We even tried to wake you. Made a bit of a game of it, really. Like, three Galleons for whoever could get you to get up. We all lost, though,' said Tracey with a look of reproach. 'Thanks, by the way. Now I don't have any money left for Hogsmeade.'

'Tracey was sure you'd wake when she emptied the bucket of cold water over your head. You didn't though,' supplemented Leo.

'So that's why my hair feels like adhesive?' Harry asked with a sharp look.

But Tracey only grinned toothily. 'It doesn't look much different than normal, to be honest.'

Harry grumbled something under his breath and put a bit of shepherd's pie on his plate.

'Are you really okay? We can go to Pomfrey after dinner if you want,' proposed Daphne anxiously.

'I'm fine.'

'I'm not saying you have to, but maybe you actually should, Harry. Being sleepy is one thing, but you were oddly exhausted after our...excursion yesterday.' Leo looked at him ruminatively. Then, he shrugged. 'It's your choice, of course.'

'Maybe I will, maybe I won't. So I gather you already told everyone what happened, Leo?'

'He didn't need to! Draco's been bragging to every Slytherin who'd stop to listen and then some how he narrowly escaped from the vicious monster in the forest, dragging the both of you – you were both crying in his story, by the way – back to Hogwarts, calming you with promises of how everything would be fine.'

Harry coldly raised an eyebrow at that. 'Where is he?'

'In the infirmary, getting treated on a nasty rash,' said Hermione with a fragile smile.

'And Amy?' Harry asked on a vague hunch.

'Detention for hexing a fellow Slytherin during lunch and in front of about two hundred witnesses.' Tracey sniggered appreciatively. 'It really was a good jinx though. Totally worth it!'

'Anyway, I cleared up a few of the...misconceptions with the girls,' said Leo impassively. 'And I think Amy's _actual_ aim was for Draco to stay in the infirmary until tomorrow noon.'

'Tryouts?' Harry guessed with a resigned look.

'Yes,' Hermione rolled her eyes in annoyance. 'He wouldn't shut up about them for the whole morning.'

'I actually think Amy just got tired of Malfoy's boasting.' Daphne sighed dramatically. 'Not that I can't relate, of course. But enough of that! What-' she softly hit Harry on the shoulder, 'were-' she hit him again, 'you thinking?! Dumbledore said the forest is dangerous! It's good I'll be able to keep a closer eye on you this year. I can't say I tend to agree with all the nonsense Malfoy spews, but you do have a nasty streak of Gryffindor in you!'

Harry generously refrained from reciprocating the compliment. He did like to take his meals with a minimum of fuss, and his noisiest cousin shouting loudly at him certainly qualified as fuss.

'Don't let it worry you, Harry.' Leo smiled at him encouragingly. 'They just don't understand the thrill of it. Maybe we can even convert you, Daphne.'

'Convert?' she repeated sceptically. 'I doubt it. But maybe you'll see how much better it's going to be to have a girl with you. Boys tend to get into a lot of trouble when left to their own devices. I can be the voice of reason!'

Hermione looked very much as if she wanted to say something regarding that comment, but it was Tracey's head that suddenly shot up with a look of glee. 'Does that mean we don't have to sneak after them anymore like we did during half your childhood?' she asked innocently.

'Tracey! You weren't supposed to tell!' groaned Daphne.

'Anyway,' Harry interjected in a low voice, putting down his cutlery. 'Let's talk about that later. I still feel rather worn out.'

 _~BLVoD~_

'Harry! Harry, get up!'

'Mblejmble?' Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes and regretfully opened them to have a look at who was shaking him. It was some vaguely familiar, blond demon in humanoid form.

'Harry, I won't allow you to skip another two meals! It's noon again, get up already!' Daphne said without consideration for his craving for sleep, continuously shaking him again.

'You know, Harry, at this rate, you'll never get any action if you always sleep through anything including wild rocking and loud screams,' came Tracey's disembodied voice from somewhere in the room.

Reluctantly, he sat up, sighing loudly. 'Is it really so late again?' he grumbled.

'Yes – it – is!' said Daphne forcefully, avoiding his eyes and blushing a bit at her best friend's words. 'And stop being so crude, Tracey.'

But Tracey only sniggered. 'YOU are calling me crude, Sweetie?'

Harry gave a yawn that might have made a lion envious, rubbing his eyes again. 'You're not messing with me, are you?' he asked just to make sure. He couldn't have been in bed for more than fourteen hours again, could he?

'No!' responded Daphne. 'You'll never get up in time for classes tomorrow at this rate.'

'I'll think of something,' he retorted without any real conviction.

Daphne responded by snatching the blanket he'd clung to all this time, throwing it on Draco's bed, cruelly far out of reach for Harry. Turning around and walking towards the exit, she said with one last smirk at him, 'If you're still up here in ten minutes, I'll think of something more _personal_ to motivate you.'

Exactly nine minutes later, Harry arrived down in the common room, still looking extremely out of it, his hair wet and his tie askew.

'Salazar, you look just like an alcoholic on your way to work, Harry,' commented Tracey nicely.

'Morning, Tracey,' he returned with a glare.

'Does your wife have to get you each and every morning now?' she asked with a grin. 'The other boys will be so jealous!'

Daphne made a face at Tracey. 'Let's just go. The others are saving us seats!'

Harry stumbled after them. He was still so out of it that Daphne, at some point, took his hand, more out of pity than anything, when he lost his balance on the stairs for the third time.

'Wow, Harry, it's really getting worse if you don't even fight against your enslavement by Greengrass anymore,' said Draco by way of greeting when they'd finally reached the Great Hall.

Harry shrugged, letting his head rest on the table, his arms misused as cushions.

'Hello, Harry,' Hermione greeted him. 'You look terrible.'

'Thanks,' returned in a muffled voice. 'I feel drained.'

'Well, I suppose there always was a bit of risk of that happening when we let Greengrass enter our d-OUCH!'

'Stow it, Malfoy!'

'No need to get violent, Greengrass! Merlin, why is your first instinct always to hit people? Behave like a girl of your standing for once!'

'I couldn't care less,' returned Daphne loftily.

'You're more resilient than you look, anyway,' said Amy with a smirk. 'Wouldn't have believed that you'd be able to sit down again properly for a few more days, Draco.'

'Well,' he sniffed pretentiously, 'someone has to save that sorry bunch we call a Quidditch team. And I've taken it upon myself to be that person. It is fated to be, nothing can stop me!' When he saw Amy giving him a measuring look, he hastily added, 'That wasn't an invitation to try!'

'Pity!'

'Oh, Dumbledore's actually here today.' Leo looked at the head table with a museful expression.

'He wasn't yesterday?' Harry asked, opening one eye to peer at his cousin.

'No, only at breakfast.'

He directed his one-eyed gaze towards the headmaster just as the ancient wizard stood up. 'Everyone, may I have your attention for a few seconds?'

Slowly, the discussions and idle conversations all around them died down until all was silent, all eyes fixed on Dumbledore.

'Excellent. Due to unforeseen circumstances and in accordance with our Ministry, I'm afraid we will have to set up a few new rules this year. As of this moment, unsupervised exiting of the safe walls our school provides is a breach of rules to be disciplined with, at the very least, suspension. For your safety and that of the support staff, Aurors will be stationed at all entrances to the castle. You are to comply with any safety measure they propose, no matter how irksome or strange they may seem to you. Also,' he slightly raised his voice to make himself heard over the outbreak of murmuring, 'all outside activities are hereby cancelled. Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures classes are, for the time being, to take place inside. This _also_ and particularly applies to both flying lessons and the activities of all Quidditch teams. All matches, tryouts and practices are herewith cancelled. And lastly,' he intoned with a piercing look at Harry specifically, to both his own surprise as well as that of his friends, 'if any of you have something you wish to tell me, anything at all, I urge you to come to me privately. No punishment is to be handed out in the case of you voluntarily approaching me with the intention to help. That is all.'

And the hall positively exploded with excited and, in more than a few cases, worried blather, Harry noted. When he turned his head, Hermione, Tracey and Draco were looking at him accusingly. Daphne looked worried, Leo merely curious. Amy, on the other hand, grinned approvingly at him.

'What?' he asked, slightly irritated with the lot of them.

'You've done something again!' gushed Tracey. 'Why else would Dumbledore single you out like that?'

'I've done nothing,' replied Harry in high dudgeon. 'I'm just as perplexed as you are!'

'At least your lack of funds won't be a problem now, Tracey,' said Amy with one of her, for lack of a better word, smiles.

'Hogsmeade!' cried Tracey, dismayed.

'Maybe Flint told Dumbledore?' speculated Leo, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

'Flint? No way! And who cares anyway?!' objected Draco. 'But...but...Quidditch! You've ruined my chance to shine, Harry!' wailed Draco childishly.

'I did nothing of the sort!' Harry repeated himself with a scowl. 'Don't go all whiny on me. You'll just have to wait another year.'

'At least Slytherin can't come last this way.' Tracey chuckled. 'Without _or_ because of Draco, I mean.'

'Haha, very funny!'

'I think,' said Leo calmly, edging a bit closer to them so they wouldn't be so easy to overhear, 'we should start getting serious with our research. Hermione, can you help me with the books? You know your way around the library, I gather?'

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. 'Of course! I've had a first look since our discussion yesterday.'

'Research on what?' Harry asked, feeling incredibly stupid for not keeping up. He blamed his 'lack of' sleep.

'That thing in the forest, of course,' replied Leo as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 'You didn't think I'd let it go, did you?'

'Not really,' Harry replied with a sigh, his head falling onto his arms again. 'But no more expeditions for now. I actually agree with the headmaster; that place _is_ dangerous and way out of our league.'

'Well, have fun with that, guys. Oh, and you're all totally nuts, by the way! I'll stay away from that freakish forest, and I'd advise you to do the same unless you want to bite the dust,' said Draco, talking fast.

'Sounds fun, but I'm not into the whole research stuff. Just find me when you actually plan to do something about it,' Amy answered Leo's silent question. 'I'll be sussing out the castle in the meanwhile. I'm really looking forward to Rose's class, as well!'

'You remember our discussion, Amy?' Harry asked, turning his head to look at her.

'Yes, yes, don't fret.'

'What do you want with her, anyway?'

'Mother asked us to sound her out a bit,' answered Leo without any enthusiasm. 'She seemed a bit obsessed with us making her life difficult, actually.'

Harry groaned. While Leo could probably not be bothered, Amy was quite happy to be pointed in a direction, any direction really, to unleash utter chaos. She was pretty much an enthusiastic weapon of mass-destruction that never needed to reload in that regard.

'Daphne? Tracey?' Leo looked at the girls who sat at Harry's side. 'What about you?'

'I'm in!' responded Daphne at once, folding her arms. 'And so is Tracey!'

'I am?' Tracey asked surprised.

'Yes, you are! I don't want you hanging out with Malfoy or Amy more than necessary.'

Amy only smirked at that. Draco, however, seemed offended. 'Oi! I'm not one of the idiots who thinks it's a good idea to poke around something that killed a whole bunch of deadly super-spiders. And you actually think _my presence_ is detrimental?'

'It's more your character than your judgement that concerns me,' replied Daphne nastily. 'The direct opposite of Amy, so to speak.'

'Cheers, Daphne!' said Amy, raising her cup. Both girls exchanged a short, grim smile.

'Well, let's meet in the library after lunch, then,' proposed Hermione, looking excited at the prospect of additional, independent study time.

'Hold on,' Harry protested, finally lifting his head. 'Give me half an hour, I want to check something.'

'I'm coming with you.' Daphne's objection followed his statement at a speed that somehow seemed to defy the laws of physics. She had her arms folded again, looking at Harry as if _daring_ him to argue.

Harry sighed. Some struggles are neither winnable nor wise to attempt. 'Fine.'

 _~BLVoD~_

'What are we doing?' asked Daphne as soon as they got out of earshot.

'I want to have a look at the Aurors. Depending on who they are, I might be able to force them to relinquish a bit of information regarding this mysterious lock down.'

'Lock down?' Daphne repeated with a frown.

'What else would you call it when all students are to stay within the confines of the castle under threat of suspension? It's...worrying that the Ministry seems to be fully on board with this measure. I can't remember something comparable happening in the recent history of Hogwarts. After all, the school prides itself on being independent of the government.'

'You really think you might be able to make them talk to you? They're Aurors, Harry! You know what Bones thinks of Uncle Arcturus and you.'

'Irrelevant,' countered Harry with a smile. 'When push comes to shove, personal loyalties will always prevail over a vague sense of duty. At least, for the vast majority of humans.'

Daphne fell a step behind. 'Y-you're not going to blackmail or bribe them, are you?'

'Well,' said Harry carefully, 'that's why I said I want to have a look at them first. There aren't too many squads of Aurors in Britain. The choice as to which squads were dispatched might be illuminating, too; combat-experienced Aurors, investigators, tracers, hunters or even the Minders.'

'Minders?' Daphne repeated with a puzzled expression.

Harry was glad to answer, especially now that she seemed to have forgotten her earlier question. 'That's how they informally refer to their two squads that specialise in Legilimency and the like. I can't say I expect them here, though. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say it would be those who specialise in taking down wizards and beasts. Maybe a few consultants from the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Possibly an Unspeakable if things are truly dire.'

'You think they know what's in the forest?' she asked nervously.

'Yes. And going by Crouch's and Dumbledore's reaction, it must be a serious problem.'

Harry sharply raised his hand, cutting off Daphne's next question. Standing next to the doors of the Great Hall stood two Aurors, both deep in conversation.

'Do you know them?' whispered Daphne, as they both peeked around the corner.

She was a bit closer to Harry than the situation demanded, and Harry was inwardly considering if it had been a mistake to give in to her so easily. He could smell the scent of her shampoo. 'No. Never seen the two of them. Come on, let's check out the next one, the exit near the kitchens.'

'You know where the kitchens are?' Daphne asked surprised.

'Oh, yes. Minnie dragged me there a few times, so she could mother me without interference.' He rolled his eyes.

'How did that work out?' Daphne asked with a smile.

'Not too well. The other elves kept trying to help her out, insisting she wasn't a proper Hogwarts elf.'

'I think she's adorable!'

'Well, it's certainly quite hard to turn her down when she stares imploringly at you with her huge, hopeful eyes.'

The next thirty minutes, they wandered around the castle, checking every entrance Harry and Daphne, who knew the castle much better than him, could think of. To Harry's increasing irritation, he only spotted one Auror he knew. Good-natured smile, receding hairline and short coarse hair.

'Longbottom,' he growled softly.

'Y-you're not going to try anything with him, are you?' Daphne asked anxiously.

'No.' He sighed in resignation. 'I'm afraid Frank Longbottom is definitely out of my reach.'

Daphne, not too subtly, pulled on his sleeve to get him away from the man.

'Then let's go, please. That family's trouble!'

'Their son isn't too bad, actually,' responded Harry with a shrug.

'I know you have a history with him, but he's still their son. _Her_ son for that matter!'

Harry allowed her to drag him away from the two men who were in conversation. Longbottom, apparently noticing movement out of the corner of his eye, looked in their direction, locking gazes with Harry for a moment. Then, he nodded curtly, returning to the conversation with his colleague.

Harry knew why Daphne was nervous, of course. If Prewett was the public face of the Pillars, the Longbottoms were their arm. And, in truth, they _were_ popular and, more importantly, dangerous people to take on. But so was he, and Harry wouldn't hold Neville's parentage against him. Doing so would go against every belief he held.

'I can only think of one more. It's, uhm, not really an official exit per se.'

Harry, his interest piqued, looked at her. 'Yes?'

'There's a hidden passage behind a mirror on the fourth floor.'

'You never mentioned that.'

He hadn't meant it as an accusation but Daphne still squirmed under his eyes a bit. 'W-well, my mum told me to keep it to myself.'

'It's alright,' he said with a small smile. 'Let's just get it over with. At this point, I'm not really expecting much.'

As fast as possible, they hurried towards the fourth floor without outright running. The study area on the fourth floor was bustling with activity, though most students seemed to be discussing the current state of affairs rather than actually studying.

'There it is,' whispered Daphne, grabbing Harry's hand to stop him and subtly pointing around the next corner towards a great, ornate Mirror that hung in the corridor. Two grim-faced wizards stood in front of it. One of the men, who was a bit more than six feet tall, had curly dishwater blond hair, and a spectacular moustache even curlier than his hair. The other one, who had his back turned towards them, still loomed over his partner, standing at nearly seven feet. That one was wearing a dark, military-looking leather coat, his long auburn hair falling over his shoulder.

'Was glauben Sie, Herr Oberst, wie lange der Einsatz dauern wird?' the first one asked, looking around uneasily, thankfully not spotting Daphne or Harry.

'Das hat nicht Ihre Angelegenheit zu sein! Machen Sie Ihre Aufgabe, und halten Sie gefaelligst den Mund!'

Harry blinked, exchanging puzzled gazes with Daphne, who looked, frankly, bamboozled.

'What are they talking about?' she whispered.

'Couldn't say, but I'm fairly sure it's German.'

Most unfortunately, it seemed the tall man possessed rather exceptional hearing. In the blink of an eye, he spun around, his black leather coat scrunching due to his fast movement. One second later, he stared down his arm at both Daphne and Harry, wand outstretched, his eyes narrowing as he saw Harry's own wand equally pointing towards him.

'Herr Ober-' the other one stammered, shocked.

'Shut up, man!' the big one snarled, cutting back in.

'Who are you?' Harry demanded, eyeing the man. He had a long, elegant face and cold grey-green eyes that stared confidently into his own.

'That's none of your business, brat. Stow your wand and get lost!'

'Your English is rather decent for a foreigner,' Harry remarked loudly. And it was. You could pick up on the slight irregularity of the vowels, but he seemed fairly used to the language.

'Bugger off, pipsqueak!'

Harry glared up at the man who effortlessly towered over them. _Pipsqueak?_

'Foreign wizards aren't allowed at Hogwarts without the express invitation of the Headmaster,' stated Harry calmly, treading on Daphne's foot to get her out of her stupor. She winced a bit, then drew her own wand. 'So unless you want to get into real trouble, I suggest you tell me exactly who you are.'

The freakishly tall one eyed him suspiciously. Then, as if choosing every word with deliberate care, he said, 'ICW, designation zero zero three. If you know what that means, I suggest you clear off now!'

'Do you have some form of identification?' Harry demanded distrustfully, nudging Daphne again when she began to lower her wand.

The man gave a nasty little smile, producing a necklace that held his dog tag with his free hand. 'I'm not in the business of entertaining nosy brats. If you say one more word, I'll consider your actions obstruction of justice. So, for the last time, remove yourself from my presence at once!'

With a scowl, Harry took a step back, his wand a bit lowered but still very much pointed in the direction of the two foreigners. Then, he grabbed his cousin by the sleeve and rushed around the corner whence they came – nearly bumping into their detestable History of Magic teacher.

He stared at them, one hand raised, his happy-go-lucky smile slowly slipping from his face like Stinksap. Awkwardly, he put his hand down again, apparently unsure what to do with it now that waving was out of the question.

Harry, meanwhile, pushed Daphne, who had visibly stiffened, behind him.

Without a word – without a sound in the world – they passed each other, each party staying as close to one side of the corridor as humanly possible, as if the middle of the hallway was polluted by the other's presence, as if even the most insignificant of greetings or even the mere acknowledgement of their counterpart would herald the inevitable confrontation.

Fabric scraped against the stone as Harry slowly manoeuvred them both away from the man he tried with all his might to resist pulling his wand on. Harry's eyes never left Prewett's right hand; there was nothing in the man's eyes he wanted to see.

Eventually, finally, they had passed him. When Prewett vanished around the corner, they didn't fail to pick up on the voice of the leather-clad man greeting him. 'Ah, Herr Prewett. Good to finally see you again, though I don't care for the circumstances...'

But Harry and Daphne didn't even remotely feel the urge to tarry.

'Who were they?' Daphne croaked when she was calm enough to raise her voice again.

'Special Aurors from the ICW.'

'The tall one was freaking rude! What are they doing here?'

'Well, I _will_ find out.'

' _We_ will,' Daphne corrected him sharply.

'That's what I meant to say,' amended Harry smoothly.

* * *

 _ **AN** : Hope my rusty German didn't fail me here. It took me about ten minutes to write those two pitiful sentences :D. Please pm me if I made a mistake. _


	33. VoD: Follow-up

**Follow-up**

* * *

Mrs Pince roamed the library like a jealous tiger guarding her pups, giving both Daphne and Harry resentful glances when they arrived. Having students in her holy halls on the first weekend of the term was already grounds for deep suspicion for the gnarly librarian – if not precautionary punishment.

Hastily, Harry led Daphne towards the corner where Hermione usually burrowed herself in neatly organised piles of books. This time, however, she sat in the centre of a gradually accruing enclosure of tomes, continuously handing Tracey and Leo little snippets with further books to gather.

'You've been busy,' commented Harry drily, carefully moving a few books from a chair to sit.

'Well, I thought we could get through a lot of reading in a group of five.'

'Please rescue me from this tyrannical bookworm, Daphy!' Tracey, just barely able to glimpse them over a tall stack she carried in her arms, looked at them imploringly.

'At least you have your labour force perfectly under control,' said Harry with a smirk, causing Tracey to glare at him.

'Oh, yes. We're about ready, I think. Leo and Tracey have been very helpful.'

'Well,' said Leo, neatly dusting a chair he'd set aside in an alcove, 'what did you find out?'

Daphne, who naturally stood next to Harry, looked around, but there was no other seat to be had unless she was willing to shift about two hundred books – and she clearly wasn't. Grinning, she shrugged in a theatrical fashion before she sat on Harry's knees.

'Er, Daphne?' asked Harry, struggling to keep a blank face.

'Yes, Harry?' She looked over her shoulder with an innocent smile. 'Would you rather sit on my lap?'

'I, er, I...never mind!'

Her genuine, disarming smile completely nipped his effort to tell her off in the bud. He leant back, carefully arranging his face to not reveal his discomfort. It was a bit like flying in the direction of the sun; you had the urge to shut your eyes or look away, but doing so would surely spell trouble down the road.

Daphne, meanwhile, happily brought up the topic of discussion he was currently too preoccupied to raise. 'Granger? You know any German?'

'German?' asked Hermione, her amused expression giving way to curiosity. 'I once did a workshop on it over the summer. Why?'

'There were these totally rude Auror dorks babbling in German.'

'Aurors talking in German?' repeated Hermione, interested.

'Are you sure, Sweetie?'

'Look, I didn't understand a single word, but the rude one called the other "Obst" or something. You know what that means, Granger?'

Hermione directed a questioning gaze first at Harry, who was still unblinkingly staring straight ahead and didn't react, and then reluctantly turned towards Daphne again. With an insecure little smile, she said, 'Obst, Greengrass? I think it means fruit.'

'Fruit,' repeated Daphne, aghast.

'Poofter, maybe?' guessed Tracey with a grin.

Hermione waved her hand in annoyance. 'That's not how languages work.'

'Are you sure that's the actual word he used?' asked Leo incredulously.

'That's what he said!'

'Ehm, one second.' Without another word, Hermione dashed into the depth of the library.

'He did say that, didn't he, Harry?'

'What? Oh, er, yeah.'

Only a few moments later, Hermione emerged with a massive, aged-looking tome titled _The German Dictionary by the Brothers Grimm_. She had trouble carrying it. With a resounding thump, she let the book fall down on the only free space on the table, causing the wooden furniture to creak ominously.

'What in the blazes is that?' asked Daphne, goggling like a caveman confronted with the splendour of Diagon Alley.

'A comprehensive dictionary. Greengrass, you, er, claimed they were Aurors?'

'That's what Harry said,' she said, pointing towards her back.

'Okay, so that bit is probably true, then,' muttered Hermione absent-mindedly, ignoring Daphne's annoyed expression and Tracey's sniggering.

'Maybe a title?' mused Leo.

'Exactly! Or a rank.' Muttering to herself, Hermione bent over the dictionary. It didn't take long until she looked up, a certain amount of smugness playing about her lips. 'Here it is – Oberst: Literally meaning superior or supreme, the term in its military sense stems from the reorganisation of increasingly numerous regiments and the ensuing problems to efficiently direct them by captains alone...I think we can skip that bit...Ah, it's a term used in several central European countries to describe the rank of colonel. There you have it,' she said, with what Harry considered a bit of unnecessary bossiness directed at his cousin. 'Oberst, not Obst.'

'Is there even a difference? Obst, Ohou-bust.' Hermione winced at Daphne's attempt at pronunciation. 'Sounds about the same to me,' grumbled Daphne.

Hermione was about to open her mouth again, but this time Leo cut in. 'Still, colonel. That's some serious rank. If a captain is the squad leader, the colonel might well be the Head Auror in Germany.'

'Actually, it's not necessarily Germany,' said Hermione, raising her finger in lecture. 'It's likely that Austria, Switzerland, the Netherlands and possibly even some Scandinavian countries use similar terms. Luxembourg, too.'

'Anything else you can tell us about them, Daphne?' asked Leo.

'What? Er, one was really tall, and the other one even more so. And when I say tall I mean _really_ tall. And, ahem-'

'Harry?' Leo looked at him, tuning out Daphne's underwhelming attempts to remember.

'Er, what?'

'Could you please stand up for a little while, Sweetie? We need Harry coherent right now.' Tracey grinned saucily at Daphne.

With a click of her tongue, Daphne stood up, looking displeased.

'Well?' inquired Leo again. 'You remember anything else, Harry?'

Harry, taking a deep breath, brought up one hand to support his chin. 'What? Well, the really tall one was about seven feet and half an inch tall, with long, sleek auburn hair that nearly reached his elbows. He was wearing a dark, thick and heavy-looking leather coat with a broad girdle. I don't think it was his uniform, though, as his colleague, who was probably his underling, was wearing simple, inconspicuous grey robes. That one was about six feet two, curly-haired and ash blond. Both looked extremely fit, and going by the speed in which the colonel turned, I'd say they're an elite detachment from the ICW.'

'Oh, I see. Thank you, Harry.' Then, to Harry's irritation and Daphne's superior elation, Leo said, 'You can sit down again, Daphne. In any case, I'm not entirely convinced this will lead to anything.'

'Hm.' Hermione chewed thoughtfully on her lip, her gaze wandering to the gigantic dictionary. 'Are there any magical creatures or criminals bad enough that the ICW would be required to deal with them?'

'None that I know of.' Leo sighed. 'But Britain specifically keeps most of the old treaties with the ICW under wraps.'

Harry tried to follow the conversation as best he could, but by now his mind was preoccupied with tuning out both Daphne and Tracey, as the latter kept shooting him gleeful looks at his current predicament – mostly, he suspected, because she was already bored with the topic at hand.

'How can they keep treaties under wraps?' asked Hermione indignantly.

'To keep people from abusing them,' said Harry, looking around his cousin's waist and trying hard to ignore her wiggling. 'They mostly deal with the management of magical catastrophes and the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy anyway. Not something that comes up in daily life unless you're an aspiring Dark Lord or incompetent on an epic scale.'

Leo crossed his legs, assuming a ponderous pose. 'Can you get your hands on them, Harry?'

'I don't think so. Grandfather is aware of them, of course, but he, like any other member of the Wizengamot, is sworn to secrecy.'

'I see. In that case, let's focus on the creature itself like we originally planned. We're looking for one or more native predators that could feasibly overpower a whole colony of Acromantulas.'

'Oh, joy,' commented Tracey. 'Why am I doing this again?'

'Because I say so!' returned Daphne from her throne. 'Without female supervision, all boys do is talk about base things and sort their acquaintances by the size of their rack and other irredeemably bawdy things!'

'I'm a girl, too, you know,' retorted Hermione conversationally.

'I suppose so, Granger. But you don't have the grit to stand up for us.' She scowled, her gaze following Leo's averted eyes. 'By the way, Leo, this would be a good time to assure me that you haven't done any such things – just saying!'

Tracey exploded in laughter, pointing at the younger Lestrange. 'Really, Leo?!'

'It wasn't me, alright? I'm, well, I'm just a witness!'

Harry, content to be hiding behind Daphne's back for once, was extremely relieved to be spared the condescending, brutally judging looks of the girls. _Sorry, Leo. You're on your own with this one._

'Pray tell,' demanded Daphne coldly. 'Who was it?'

'I really shouldn't say,' returned Leo stiffly, proving that he was perhaps equally more courageous and optimistic than Harry, possibly to the point of being rather naïve.

'I'm sure your big sis will be intrigued,' remarked Tracey with a mean glint in her eyes. 'Her own brother, slavering over th-'

'It was Draco, alright?' confessed Leo immediately. _No honour among thieves. Ah well, if Amy were my sister, I'd probably squeal like a pig._

While Tracey grinned at the soon to be expected mayhem, Daphne and Hermione looked rather disgusted.

Harry averted his gaze like a bystander passing by a gruesome accident. Girls shouldn't be allowed to crack their knuckles menacingly like that.

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry trudged towards the second floor, the Prophet in one hand, a bit of toast in the other, occasionally shivering in the cold morning air. It was about six a.m., and only an elaborate set of charms that had taken Harry about ten minutes to set up and twice as long to undo had assured that he actually awoke. Mindlessly, he scratched his arm, suppressing a yawn. Maybe the _Stinging Hexes_ hadn't been the best idea ever.

' _Aurors to guard Hogwarts under new security regimen!_

 _Headmaster and Minister refuse to comment on foreign security detachments in Britain's heart of education!_ '

The lead article in question was, despite its rather typically confrontational headline, rather cautious and included, as far as Harry could tell, nothing but wild speculation and acerbic accusations that were generously shared between the secretary of the Minister, Dumbledore and the ICW.

 _So the Prophet is either authentically stumped, or they were put on a leash again._

It was at this point that Harry nearly crashed into another early riser – for the third time. Admittedly, walking the halls while half-asleep and reading the paper was probably also not the best idea ever.

'Hey, Harry! Up so early?'

Harry tore his eyes away from the article. Neville stood in front of him, clad in protective dragon hide and sporting many a smudge of dirt. 'Oh, I apologise. Morning, Neville. Breaking out so early?' he said, eyeing the trail of dirt Neville had left behind him in the corridor. 'Aren't you afraid your dad will catch you?'

Neville laughed bashfully. 'No, actually Professor Sprout asked me and a few others for help with a few plants that needed to be transferred inside. Yesterday night was relatively calm, so she made a split-second decision to get it done as soon as possible.'

'You're just coming back from that? Are you going to be okay with lessons today?'

'We're excused from lessons, but I'll see about that. Don't want to miss out on Defence or Herbology.'

Harry, slightly taken aback by this much dedication, knit his brow. 'Well, good luck with that. You might want to get away before Filch gets on your heels, though.'

'Yeah, good idea. He's been in a really foul mood lately. Take care!'

Harry raised his hands in farewell, once more paying attention to Skeeter's latest drivel.

Five minutes later, which included an incident of colliding with an open door he was sure to never speak of, he reached his destination, knocking on the door with a complicated expression.

'Come in!' Aenor resided behind her cherished desk, various pastries and refreshments arranged in a rather dainty fashion, waving a croissant at Harry by way of greeting. 'I hope you don't mind?' Her office was sweet with freshly baked cookies and exquisitely brewed tea. It reminded Harry of winter, when the House-elves would usually engage in the baking of those divine delicacies.

Harry took a seat and raised an eyebrow. 'You could've at least offered me something as well, you know?'

'I'm sorry,' she said, smirking and putting one arm on the table as a sort of boundary to prevent Harry from nicking her food, 'but I'm starved! I've only come back from my trip an hour ago, and my mood sours whenever I skip meals.' Gracefully bringing a finger to her lips, she added as an afterthought, 'You can have a cup of tea if you like.'

'How very generous,' Harry returned sardonically, his eyes following her pouring him a drink for decorum's sake.

'Before we start, was it you who shrank Filch's cat?' She looked at him with a wicked glint of amusement in her eyes, chocolate-croissant temporarily suspended in mid-air.

'Yes? You didn't sort it out, did you?'

But Aenor only laughed, rising from her seat and striking a pose. 'Heavens – no! But Filius owes me money!' She took a bite, throwing him a steaming-hot gingerbread biscuit she seemed able to abstain from. Harry somehow got the impression that he was being rewarded for performing a neat new trick, but his stomach decided that he didn't much care. 'First and foremost, the magic I'm about to teach you is presumably way beyond your current abilities, as entertaining as they might be when it comes to charming abhorrent castle-critters. Nevertheless, I'd say it's something you wouldn't usually tackle until you're halfway into your mastery.'

'But you did promise you'd teach it nevertheless,' insisted Harry.

'But I foolishly promised I'd teach you nevertheless,' she repeated with a grin. 'First,' she waved her wand and a stack of twenty mouldy tomes floated from the corner of the room towards Harry, neatly stacking themselves in alphabetical order, 'you need to study these. They touch upon defensive magic, concealment, oscillation and all the other things that are necessary to even begin learning the spell.'

'I can do so in my free time,' said Harry at once, inspecting the old textbooks. 'Are they yours?' he asked curiously, opening the one on top of the first pile.

 _This book is the property of-_

Twenty seconds later, Harry blinked, confused. 'What just happened?' he asked, slightly alarmed. He'd meant to read the last two words, but for some reason his eyes refused to concentrate on them.

'I suggest you don't dwell on the original owner of these books. They're cursed to do some really nasty stuff to anyone who tries to unravel the charms.' Conversationally, she raised her croissant again. 'I'm talking about the "your extremities fall off and start to eat you alive" type of nasty.'

With pronounced care, Harry put the book down again. 'Noted.'

'As I said, you need to study those, but I figured you'd like to do something more practical when I make time for you. I'm pretty busy right now, so you better make the most of it.'

Without looking up, she directed her wand to perform a complicated ballet of movement until the familiar and thoroughly humbling, softly shimmering barrier manifested itself - only this time it was barely three inches wide and high, floating in the middle of the room like the most bizarre and useless window in existence.

'Since you, astonishingly enough, don't seem to have a problem perceiving this totally invisible ward, you might as well start studying with a practical approach. Try to get a feel for the magic. If you don't understand the underlying principles _or_ the nature of the spell, it won't work even if I tell you the incantation.'

'Alright.' Harry kneeled down until his eyes were level with the alien piece of magic that had, in a way, started his connection with this equally alien witch who posed as an educator. 'What's keeping you so busy anyway?' he asked offhandedly as he took a bite of the biscuit, softly brushing his hand against the smooth surface of the ward.

'Oh, you know! The usual stuff. But I've finally stumbled across an extremely interesting project this year. The opportunity of a lifetime, really.' Aenor looked, in Harry's opinion, like an explorer off on his next great adventure. 'Simply fascinating!'

'Even more so than exploding Boggarts?' he asked in good humour.

She laughed. 'Yes! I wish I could devote more of my time to my studies.'

'I'm so sorry to hold you back,' remarked Harry, prodding the field of magic. It hissed softly, and he could immediately feel his fingers being pushed back by equal force.

'It's not you who's bugging me the most,' she said tolerantly. 'No, it's the blasted lessons.' Harry looked up at her, rather surprised. True, from what he'd gathered, Aenor had always been more interested in her independent studies than teaching, but she was clearly more annoyed than usual to be wasting her time. 'I really hate uppity brats,' she added. 'And speaking of which; what kind of cursed abyss did your cousin crawl out from?'

'Amy?' he asked with a smile.

'Never in my life had I thought I'd be so tempted to pull my wand on a fourteen-year-old girl.'

'She can be a bit of a handful,' admitted Harry.

'A bit of a handful? She set my desk on fire, challenged me to a duel, tried to curse me behind my back and kept pointing out that she thought I looked rather like some Muggle addict she'd seen near King's Cross.' Aenor sighed, resting her head in her hand, and stared outside. 'And that was just the first lesson.'

'Well, on the upside, as long as you don't do anything to purposely annoy her brother, he won't be a problem.'

'Didn't seem like a troublemaker to me.'

'If you say so.' Harry relaxed his eyes a bit and examined, once more, the ward in front of him. This time, he could pick up on the thousands and thousands of almost invisible, orange lines of magic flowing through the 'window' like a netting. 'It's just that, if unprovoked, he usually ends up causing problems for his friends most of all.' Experimentally, he sniffed. He thought he could make out the smell of cold, frigid nights of winter, snow endlessly falling, days never seeing the light of the sun. Harry frowned. Was that even a smell?

While his fingers slowly stroked the ward, he opened another textbook, browsing through the pages for anything interesting to see. The texts were all in modern, plain and British English, which he found suspiciously odd, considering one of the texts had a publication date of 1683.

His eyes shot towards Aenor, but she didn't seem to be paying him any attention, rummaging choosily in her basket of some nameless baker's master-works. Well, she _had_ given him the books to read, hadn't she? Even though Harry would have been prepared to give an arm and a leg for the opportunity to study the ward not a few weeks ago, he found himself absorbed in the idea of finding out more about the mysterious woman nobody really seemed to know.

If the script was English, the text had to be charmed. He concentrated his sight on the textbooks again, easing up on his constant efforts to restrain his additional layer of perception – and nearly dropped the book in his hand. Each one of them, even the thinnest little booklet, oozed with the impression of overwhelming death; foetid blood red and miasmic runes the colour of coal, so tiny he could barely spot them but impressive, insurmountable, unavoidable all the same. Six dozen, ten dozen – too many curses and charms to count were layered and layered upon each other as if he held the mythical Box of Pandora in his shaking hands that now felt uncomfortably clammy.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Aenor still pointlessly agonising over the decision of which snack to sample next.

Mesmerised, Harry opened a haply chosen, tarnished and torn notebook from the very bottom, skipping pages as if each crumpled, faded sheet was made from poisoned glass.

And he couldn't believe his luck; notes in the margins of the very last page!

Harry's heart nearly skipped a beat, and he bent over, trying to decipher most of the now unreadable handwriting. Two authors seemed to have scribbled all over the page, though most of their messages were teasingly faded.

The first writer had written in a neat, angular foreign script Harry had problems deciphering. The fading contrast didn't help either. Only the very last words were still visible enough to even attempt a reading.

'...g elsker di...'

The other author seemed to have either chosen a better ink or had been a more recent addition. Whatever the reason, this time Harry could make out half a sentence of the curly, seriph-infested script.

'...Es muß derhalben unser oberstes Gebote seyn...'

Harry's eyes were glued to one particular word. He had no clue whatsoever what any of those fragments could possibly mean, but here, bold and undeniable, he beheld the one word that made up his whole mnemonic dictionary of the German language.

A faint, alluring breeze of daffodil caused Harry to turn his head. Leaning over his shoulder, cockiness radiating from eyes that were as deep as any ocean, was Aenor. 'Feeling a bit nosy, are we?'

 _~BLVoD~_

Hermione looked just as confused as the rest of the class when Harry entered the classroom with their teacher in tow, both engrossed in their conversation.

Tracey, who sat next to Hermione (as both the Muggle-born and Daphne refused to sit anywhere near Draco for the foreseeable future), was staring daggers at their professor, scowling menacingly. Hermione was kind of glad that Greengrass was blocked from view, at least.

'Harry, over here! I saved you a seat!' It was becoming rapidly apparent how Greengrass clearly considered the subtle approach obsolete, and she waved wildly to get Harry's attention. With one last shared glance, Harry walked over to Greengrass, who engaged him at once with furious whispers and barbed looks.

'Good morning,' Professor Rose greeted them, smiling and taking a seat behind her desk.

'Good morning,' the class replied. Well, most of them. Tracey had substituted the 'good' part with a few choice words that caused Hermione to blush and poke at the petite girl next to her.

'She's so vile!' Hermione's seatmate snarled rather louder than necessary or prudent.

Hermione didn't share the resentment of the fellow Slytherin girls. In truth, Rose's personality was, if at all, a tertiary concern of hers. No one could deny that she was competent and willing to teach, and her methods had proven to work, so what was there to complain about?

 _Still_ , Hermione thought as she nibbled on her lip with one ear listening to their teacher laying out the plan for the year, _this_ was _a bit, well, unusual._ Last year, she'd brushed all the rumours aside. _So what if Harry and Rose had danced_ – _what's the big deal? True, she's a teacher, and it probably wasn't appropriate, but Professor Prewett viciously attacking Harry's family or Professor Snape's all around vitriolic attitude could hardly be called appropriate either, right?_

'...and when you've thus finally learned your first really useful bits of magic that might possibly help you survive an attack on your person, we might as well end the term on a cheerful note while covering Vampires, Werewolves, Boggarts and Banshees.'

 _There'd also been that ridiculous rumour of Harry being engaged to Professor Rose, of course, but the very notion is so over the top that it isn't even worth considering_ – _or is it?_

'So, without further ado, let's start with our practical part of the term.' Professor Rose stood up and began marching up and down in front of her desk. 'Since we're in luck and actually have a few people in this class who might be able to attempt a duel without dropping their wand, how about we start with something fun again that might serve to prove a point.' Rose smirked, her eyes locked with Harry's as if she was enjoying an inside joke.

 _Well, she does seem friendly with him. I hadn't really noticed..._ Intrigued, Hermione leant a bit forward in her seat, looking at Harry, who coolly responded Aenor's gaze in kind.

'Let's engage in a hypothetical battle. Mr Black, if your area of expertise was, theoretically speaking, charms and defensive magic, how would you estimate your chance of winning a fight against a witch specialising equally in offensive magic, curses more specifically.'

Harry regarded their teacher with blatant annoyance. 'Extremely bad to the point of inadvisability.'

If Professor Rose was bothered by his attitude, she didn't show it. Smiling serenely, she addressed the rest of the class. 'Correct. Much of what you'll learn as offensive magic is, technically speaking, a charm, conjuration or even transfiguration. Now, you might jolly-well ask what's the difference between casting the Disarming Charm and a curse aimed to thoroughly incapacitate? Well? You, Miss Parkinson, have a guess.'

'Curses usually inflict harsher punishment, obviously.'

'True, but – again – I ask you what difference would it make in this situation. Being wandless or dead makes little to no difference in most lethal one-on-one duels. So, the question stands; what is the difference between charms and curses used in combat?'

Here she was again. Last year, Rose had famously educated them about the benefits of sneaking up on people to deliver a knock-out punch in the most cowardly way possible, and now she was, well, advertising the use of curses. _Now that I think about it, the first lesson was extremely similar last year. Maybe she does follow a structured plan after all?_

'Miss Wright, you try your luck.'

'They're more dangerous, maybe?'

'Yes, but how so exactly? As I said already, sudden defeat or helplessness makes hardly any difference in a duel.'

'There's wandless magic, so it might make a difference after all!' proposed Tracey from Hermione's side.

'And I'm sure you wish to entertain us with a showing of your grand, hitherto undisclosed wandless magic, Miss Davis?' Their teacher smirked at a grumbling Tracey before she turned away again. 'So, if the essential difference doesn't lie in the _effect_ , even though curses doubtlessly are more...flashy than charms, what other distinction is there to be made?'

Tracey and Professor Rose really didn't get along, though Tracey seemed little more than an inconvenience for Rose, whereas her petite classmate bristled after every little crosstalk. _I really don't get why Tracey dislikes her so violently. I mean, she's nothing like Greengrass, that's for sure. Greengrass is jealous, and that's not very hard to understand for anyone_ – _with, perhaps, the notable exception of Harry. Then again, Greengrass' fixation on Harry is a bit creepy; like how she was gushing about how she envisioned her marriage last year. True, she didn't outright say with whom but..._

Hermione replayed the scene in the theatre of her mind. Harry, too, had visibly flinched when Greengrass had started babbling about all the different customs and all such nonsense. _Wait, he couldn't-_

'No more volunteers? Alright, look at it this way-'

Hermione's eyes widened as she gaped at Professor Rose. _But the rumours couldn't be true, could they? Engaged? Well, she did defend him that one time, and Bones did lose a stunning number of points for bad-mouthing Harry..._

'Charms and transfigurations can be, by any right, deadly; it's just a matter of application, or, shall we say, creativity? Curses, of course, are primarily intended to harm a person, which is why some backwoodsmen had the ingenious idea to call them "dark". Preachy, ignorant and moronic – a dangerous combination you should do well to be wary of. Shouldn't charms be dark then, if I were to levitate you over a cliff? Shouldn't we be cautious of transfigurations because I could turn your blood to wine? The real difference, lo and behold, is that curses are more difficult to defend against! Most curses are hard to deflect and have fewer counter-curses. The arguably most quintessential curses have none at all.'

Hermione blinked her way out of her stupor. Most of her classmates were apparently not catching up or not paying attention, to begin with – but Hermione was, even if her thoughts drifted off every now and then. _Did she really just say that?_

'The point I wished to make at the start of the lesson was how equally powerful charms and curses, when pointed at one another without outside intervention, will practically always result in curses overcoming charms. They were developed to be that way, after all. There are, of course, exceptions, but they are few and far between. However, please do remember that we are speaking only of direct one-on-one contact of spells, which will, in reality, almost never happen.'

Hermione's eyes were still tracing her teacher's every move, even as the lecture slowly departed from captious topics.

 _~BLVoD~_

Hermione, her mind still racing, followed the rest of the clique (sans Draco) on their way to History of Magic.

'Are you going to actually attend, Daphy?' Tracey had probably meant it as an innocent, off-handed question, but she seemed to realise her mistake the very next instant, both of her hands flying towards her own mouth.

'No,' Greengrass snapped, her mouth a thin line Professor McGonagall would have been proud of.

'I've made our position clear to the headmaster. I'll never sit that lunatic's lessons,' Harry stated categorically.

Hermione watched them attentively. She was, in her own more or less humble opinion, a fair observer, and Harry and Greengrass were extremely interesting objects of study. Though Harry usually seemed unwilling to put much effort into resisting most of Greengrass' whims, it was these presumably intensely charged moments that saw the usual dynamic switched – the proud, loud and confident blonde almost hid behind Harry's back.

Hermione bit her lip and suffered the silence. Tracey tried to start a conversation with Greengrass again, but the words fell into the deep conversational hollow the topic of Professor Prewett had brought and left Tracey's voice ringing shrilly in the cold corridor. 'So, er, are you guys headed for the common room again?'

Harry simply nodded.

Tracey cussed softly, but she didn't give up so easily. 'I sure hope the staircase doesn't mess with us again!' Tracey laughed awkwardly, desperate to bridge the gap in conversation.

She failed. The stairs from the second to the first corridor aligned perfectly with the timing of their arrival, though – a small mercy. Hermione couldn't help being glad for it, too.

'What do you know!' Tracey exclaimed in a strained sort of voice. 'Sometimes you just get lucky!'

Greengrass had, Hermione noticed, at some point gingerly taken hold of Harry's robes, trotting along, her head lowered and her long glossy hair falling around her like a brittle armour of golden strands. The eyes of every portrait, every person seemed to follow their sullen entourage, the sounds of their steps like lonely flaps in the halls of an empty cathedral.

Eventually, even Hermione's perseverance wavered. 'That was some strange lesson just now, wasn't it, Tracey?' she asked, her voice unnaturally lively.

'Oh, yes indeed, Honey!' Tracey agreed wholeheartedly. 'Oh, no...'

'What?' asked Hermione, confused.

Wordlessly, Tracey pointed towards the corridor that held the History of Magic classroom. Outside, swaggering and garish, Professor Prewett greeted his students, grinning boyishly and jesting with a few other arrivals. Next to him stood a man Hermione now saw for her first time, though she immediately knew who it was: black leather coat, overly long auburn hair, and a stature that towered over lesser men.

'Let's just slip by and be on our way, Daphne,' Harry proposed in a low voice, his wand groaning with the pressure of his grip.

Greengrass nodded, her hand tightening on his robes.

Tracey looked straight into Hermione's eyes and jerked her head pointedly. After a brief moment of confusion, Hermione sped up and walked up next to Tracey, so that – hopefully – Harry and Greengrass could slink away.

Sadly, that was not to be. 'Ah, Miss Greengrass, Mr Black? Jolly good! It seems you've come around after all. Be seated inside, I've just been telling my coll-'

Professor Prewett's somewhat artificial but relieved expression cracked like a log under the woodman's axe. Bewildered, Hermione looked around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

The professor, too, seemed under the impression that he had imagined things as he started again, clearly intent on making up for his blunder. 'As long as you behave and be civil, we won't have to make this more awkward for any of u-'

'Out of my way, Prewett.'

This time, Hermione barely managed to hear Harry's whisper. But for all its lack of volume, his voice seemed to rip the corridor in two. He stood in front of Greengrass, staring down Prewett, his wand in his hand and for all to see, not at all like Hermione was accustomed. Greengrass stood close to Harry, her face averted.

Prewett nervously licked his lips, glancing at his foreign colleague. 'Now, Mr Black, I'm sure we don't want to make a scene, and I _am_ a teac-'

Harry's wand shot up, and the smile slipped from Prewett's face to reveal a nasty scowl. The giant seemed rather surprised by this open show of disobedience and straight up revolt, and it was possibly this that caused Prewett to try again. As Harry had proven to be unbending, Prewett now focused his attention on the apparent weak link.

A bad move if ever there was one to make.

'Miss Greengrass, I never quite got around to speaking face to face to you, and I really want to tell you how dreadfully sor-'

Harry's wand erupted with a bang, and the floor next to Professor Prewett exploded with a crash.

'Oh, crap!' Tracey eloquently described the situation.

'Harry, no!' cried Hermione.

The giant man had his wand in his hand, but he looked down at Prewett and then at Harry with something like vague interest.

Harry, holding hands with Greengrass who looked as shocked as Hermione hoped she didn't, walked over to the glowering man who now eyed Harry's wand much more closely.

Harry, by contrast, looked at his teacher as if a ball of slime had just rolled over his favourite carpet. 'Don't waste your breath.'

'I'm still your _teacher_ , Black, and you will address me as such!' the man roared, goofy smile long forgotten.

Harry raised his wand again, followed within the blink of an eye by both Prewett and the foreign Auror. 'A murderer is what you are, you bloody bastard. If you dare talk to Daphne one more time after what you did to her family, I swear I'll visit your quarters the very next night to get the revenge for Regulus that you so rightly deserve!'

'Harry!' Hermione shrieked. 'Don't descend to that level! Please...'

'I'm not descending, Hermione,' Harry said as he turned away, Daphne following silently. 'I'm just being honest for once.'


	34. VoD: Final spurt

**Final spurt...?**

* * *

The class was bustling. To their teacher's annoyance, that wasn't due to the jokes he'd just cracked.

'Yes, well, settle down, everyone!' Prewett clapped his hands twice to get their attention – not that it did him any good. It was only when he produced a ringing whistle that the class finally fell silent. Prewett sighed. 'Please, let's not get overeager. Take your seats.'

'Professor?' One of the Ravenclaws with whom they shared History of Magic this year raised his hand.

'Yes, Mr Fawcett?'

'Do you know Harry Black?'

'I think he was on the verge of hexing you!' someone else remarked.

'Cursing, more like,' someone mumbled, not quietly enough.

'And did you guys see the look on Greengrass' face?'

Most of the class nodded to that last comment, and, collectively, all eyes were set upon their teacher again, silently demanding information.

'Listen, you lot, this isn't really a topic for this l-'

'Oh come on, Professor! You always said we should ask you whatever!' Fawcett insisted.

'Greengrass looked almost afraid of you,' remarked Draco innocently, ignoring Tracey's poisonous look. 'Did you do something to her?'

Prewett visibly stiffened. His eyes wandered the classroom, until, with a sigh, he seemed to reach a decision. 'Alright, alright! Listen up. I'm only telling you anything at all because I don't want you to believe whatever you might hear elsewhere. As far as I remember, Hogwarts' rumours aren't exactly known for their...veracity.'

Their teacher's gaze wandered over them fretfully, though the same certainly couldn't be said for the rest of the class. Most of the students were sitting at the edge of their seats, leaning forward in uncharacteristic attention.

'You need to understand that as an Auror you're sometimes confronted with...unpleasant stuff. Sometimes, the task itself is less than enjoyable, and sometimes what first seemed like a normal mission might get out of hand. In these situations, Aurors are trained not to make moral decisions – they're expected to do their duty.'

Professor Prewett kept silent for a few seconds, his lips slightly parted, apparently wondering how to proceed.

'What do you mean, Professor? Did something go wrong with Black or Greengrass?' asked Fawcett in a hushed voice.

'Well, er, you could say that. Listen, kids, I'm not allowed to give away mission details to outsiders, especially not minors. Let's just say something went wrong, and Miss Greengrass is, understandably, a bit upset with me...'

'So it's got something to do with Greengrass, then? Did you try to arrest her? Or her family? And things got out of hand?' Padma Patil called from the backline with palpable curiosity.

Prewett visibly winced. 'I, er, didn't say that,' he insisted stiffly.

'Come on, Professor...'

'No, enough is enough already! Let's get to the actual lesson, why don't we. You might find it a bit more interesting than dusty stories, too!' With a weak grin, he walked towards the centre of the room, dramatically raising his arms, not unlike a preacher speaking to the masses, oblivious to their protests and pleas. 'I'd like to present to you another great hero of modern times, the current Head-Auror of the joint special-forces of the International Confederation of Wizards; ladies and gentlemen, I give you the man whose full name I'm not allowed to disclose: my close friend, Antonius!'

With a bang of his wand, Prewett produced a small firework and also, Hermione suspected, seeing the disbelieving looks of most Ravenclaws and the sneers of the Slytherins, a bit of background applause. The door opened, and the auburn-haired giant entered, rolling his eyes at Prewett's spell and bowing politely to the class. 'Good day, students of Hogwarts.'

Hermione perked up, her eyes focused on the newcomer in front. Harry had been right, she had no doubt; the man had a very subtle accent, even if she couldn't be sure of its origin.

'Antonius, these are my second-year History of Magic students. Class, if you have any questions or in case you want to get a second opinion from another great Auror,' he winked at them cheekily, 'feel free to ask Antonius whatever comes to your mind. Just, er, remember that he might not be able to answer freely,' he added as an afterthought.

'Sir, where are you from?' Hermione fired away immediately.

The foreign Auror's eyes immediately found her, and his brow wrinkled a bit. 'From central Europe, Miss Granger.' The man had a deep, firm voice, though he seemed to ponder every word. His eyes, on the other hand, were not as lazy and flickered from student to student.

Hermione blinked, stupefied. 'How do you know my name, sir?'

'I've studied the names of all the staff and students currently at Hogwarts in preparation for my visit.'

A small 'Wow!' of admiration could be heard here and there, and Hermione couldn't help agreeing.

'Excuse me, sir?' Tracey stood up.

'Yes, Miss Davis?' he replied after a second in which he apparently consulted his mental list of students.

'Are you here on a mission from the ICW?'

'That I am, though you need not concern yourself with our work. We are not allowed to discuss it, and your chances of making me reveal something by accident are...negligible. Just stay out from under our feet, and we'll take care of...things.'

'What things?' someone yelled from the back.

But the Auror, Antonius, didn't even acknowledge the question.

Eventually, Parkinson raised her hand. 'Do you make a lot of money as Head-Auror of the ICW?'

Prewett immediately barked that rowdy laughter of his. The giant, however, merely smirked, apparently amused. 'It pays the rent.'

Again, Tracey raised her hand. That was pretty unusual, Hermione thought. Tracey was in any class except Potions (where she constantly embarrassed herself) and Defence (where she was constantly embarrassed by Rose), rather quiet – well, quiet in the sense that she didn't participate voluntarily in the lesson, even if she seldom actually kept her mouth shut. 'What sort of qualification should we aim for if we want to follow in your footsteps, sir?'

The question seemed to further amuse the man. 'Ah, I've been told that this would be the hardest class to evade questions in. A house famed for its wit and another for its guile; how very amusing.'

Tracey clicked her tongue in annoyance, looking at the man with grudging respect.

'Sir!' Hermione raised her hand again. 'Is it very difficult to work in an organisation that stands in-between the very distinct and contrasting laws of many of its member states?'

'An insightful question. I believe you are Muggle-born, Miss Granger?'

'I am, sir,' she replied without hesitation, choosing to ignore Parkinson's sniggering.

'Good. Then kindly imagine a loose confederation of all the states in the Muggle-world with nearly no executive power and extensive responsibilities in times of crisis.'

Hermione made a face. 'I think I know what you mean, sir, and it sounds like a nightmare.'

'A fitting description. Just so everyone understands: Me and my colleagues being here required two international negotiations, three meetings between ministers, about thirty-nine floo-calls and more owls than inhabit this swath of Scotland. And those were the official channels only, I might add.'

'That doesn't sound too bad,' argued a Ravenclaw in the back. 'It _is_ an international joint venture, after all.'

The man sighed and shook his head. Prewett clapped him on the back in a commiserative manner, giving them with the kind of smile an adult might show a child who promised he'd fix the world. 'I don't think you understand, my dear students. The negotiations lasted for nearly two weeks non-stop _despite_ there being a law that required their attendance. That's bureaucracy for you.'

'So there's an international law that demands your presence here at Hogwarts?' Tracey pounced on Prewett's answer, her eyes glued to the man she'd obviously identified as the weak link.

The auburn giant gave Prewett, who looked apologetic, one of those looks that that carried as much information as your average scientific essay. All the class, or so it seemed, stared at Prewett's silently moving lips. 'Listen up, everyone. This whole situation will be dealt with in the coming days. I can't tell you more, but rest assured that we've got everything completely under control here.'

'What's the biggest creature you've ever had to deal with?' yelled Draco into the silence. 'Do they have hunting squads at the ICW?'

Prewett immediately focused on Draco's question, though he could do little to dissuade the knowing looks Tracey, Hermione and some of the others shared.

 _~BLVoD~_

'What's with Draco?' Tracey kicked at some random door on their way to the Great Hall to vent her frustration. 'It's like he's trying to sabotage us!'

'I, er, maybe...nevermind!'

'What is it?'

'Well, the way Leo tells it, Draco wasn't exactly happy to have been included in their little expedition into the forest. So maybe...' Hermione's voice trailed off meaningfully.

'You think he'd go so far because he's afraid of getting roped into this stuff again?'

'He, er, seems irrationally afraid of hanging out with Leo, too. I found that odd because they seemed like pretty good friends, to be honest.'

'They are.' Tracey pursed her lips cutely, her brow fiercely wrinkled. 'Well, whatever. It's not his choice in the end. I think he's being a baby about it.'

'What do you mean, not his choice?' asked Hermione, confused.

But Tracey only laughed, her expression changing from contemplative to happy-go-lucky within the blink of an eye. 'Leo has this...thing, you know. He does really stupid stuff from time to time, and no matter what you do, somehow you'll always end up tagging along. It's part of the special Lestrange School of Magic – that's my theory at least.'

'The "Lestrange School of Magic"?' Hermione repeated with a smile.

'Yep! Like, don't try to talk behind Amy's back – ever! The walls have ears, I swear!'

Hermione laughed.

'I'm serious!'

'Yes, well, okay,' said Hermione diplomatically, trying not to grin.

'There's no way she could've known!' Tracey grumbled.

'I'm sure there wasn't.'

'I was totally alone, you know. There was nothing; nothing, I tell you!'

'Yes, Tracey, I'm sure,' said Hermione soothingly, startled to recognise the tone she used. It was the very same her mother had used whenever she'd told her about colourful sparks, moving objects and vanishing toys in her childhood. She looked at Tracey, whose head barely reached her shoulders. The little witch was still engrossed in her tirade, but suddenly, Hermione didn't find it quite as funny anymore.

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry and Daphne missed lunch, the rest of the classes, and dinner that day. When Tracey and Hermione eventually entered the Slytherin Dungeon, anxious to look for their friends, they found Harry sleeping with his head in Daphne's lap.

Tracey threw herself into one of her favourite armchairs, sighing like someone who had endured days of physical conditioning. 'How are you, Daphy?' she asked as soon as she'd curled up.

'Fine,' Greengrass returned dismissively.

'Er, P-' Hermione paused to rethink her approach at Tracey's scalding behest. 'You should probably know that person talked a bit...you know.'

Daphne shrugged, looking impassively down at the sleeping Harry.

'What are you doing, Sweetie?' said Tracey when Daphne seemed, once again, lost in thought.

'What? I, uh, Harry fell asleep!'

'Like that?' Tracey asked, raising an accusatory eyebrow, determined to dig deeper.

'Well, maybe not _exactly_ like that, but I couldn't let him sleep sitting up, now could I?'

Tracey sighed dramatically. 'You're hopeless! Why is he asleep anyway?'

'Don't ask me, I didn't do anything! We talked a bit, and he was pretty wan the whole time and then – wham! – he's asleep.'

'Again?' Tracey's mouth twitched, and her eyes bored into her best friend with a teasing glint.

'Don't you dare start with that rubbish again!' snapped Greengrass. 'He's...just tired. I know t-that person gets to him as much as he does to me. It's just that he doesn't usually show it.'

'Maybe Harry should visit Madam Pomfrey tomorrow after all,' said Hermione.

'What?' Daphne's head jerked around at once. 'He's just sleepy!'

'No, Hermione's right. Sleeping through a whole day is funny, twice is strange, falling asleep while talking a few days later is...definitely not normal.'

'You think he's ill?' asked Greengrass in a shrill voice, looking at the boy who slept in her lap as if he might vanish the next second.

'Well, better safe than sorry,' said Tracey appeasingly. 'I'm sure it's nothing. Anyway, listen to this, Prewett let slip that there's some kind of legal situation going on. That's why Antonius, that's the tall one's name, by the way, and his squad are stationed around here.'

Daphne looked at Tracey as if the girl had proposed snogging Draco. It couldn't be clearer that the forest wasn't even on the list of her concerns right now.

'Alright, alright.' Tracey stood up, yawning. 'We'll talk about that tomorrow. Honey, would you mind telling Leo what we found out?'

'What? Oh, er, sure.'

Hermione watched Tracey leave with a certain amount of trepidation. Even after all this time, she still didn't feel quite comfortable alone with Greengrass. Turning her head, she looked at her from the corner of her eye. The girl's enviably glossy blond hair was hastily tucked behind her ears so that it wouldn't get in the way of her gazing. She looked at Harry like the most fearful – if devoted – nurse in history.

'Are you in love with Harry?'

The words sailed through the silence of the common room for a whole three seconds before Hermione realised that, shockingly, they must've been hers.

Daphne looked up, blinking, surprised by Hermione's mere presence. She quickly averted her eyes again. 'You're starting to sound like Tracey now, Granger. Don't annoy me with that kind of crazy talk.'

Hermione, still taken aback by her own daring, just stared at her counterpart. Yet they both held their peace. When Greengrass didn't look up again for nearly four minutes, Hermione considered just leaving Daphne to her dream world like that, but then, surprisingly, the girl spoke up, her eyes still fixed on Harry. 'He's saved my life twice, did you know?'

Hermione stared at the girl who refused to meet her eyes. 'I did not,' she responded in what she hoped was a compassionate tone.

Greengrass opened her mouth again, but, apparently, Hermione wasn't the only one struggling to find words. Greengrass looked annoyed, before she, even more incomprehensibly, giggled lightly. 'I really hate this kind of talk. I'm no good with silences. It's mostly Harry who knows me like this.'

'I, er, didn't get that impression, to be honest,' said Hermione, riding her surge of bravery with reckless abandon.

But Greengrass simply smiled, moving her hand as if to touch Harry before she seemed to think better of it and retracted it almost regretfully. 'I know I turn into a fury whenever Harry's concerned, and I don't deny that I'm thrilled that I'm the only one who gets away with it. You may think whatever you choose to, Granger; choose to think that he's little more than my plaything or believe that I'm senselessly throwing myself at him even though it's fairly obvious that I'm probably little more than a sister to him. I don't care. I really don't care. I'm happy no matter what.'

 _~BLVoD~_

'So, there's...nothing?'

'Yes, Miss Greengrass. He certainly does look a bit peaky, but I just can't find anything wrong with him.'

'Thanks, Mums!' exclaimed Harry sarcastically. Both Madam Pomfrey and Daphne sent a glare his way, though Hermione, who'd tagged along to the infirmary, had to stifle a laugh.

'I appreciate you keeping an eye on him, though. If anything else comes up, don't hesitate to drag him up here.'

'I will,' agreed Greengrass with a nasty look of determination.

'Good. To be honest, I get a bit worried when he isn't in here every fortnight. This has to be some kind of record for you, Harry.'

'Thank you for your concern, _Madame Pomfrey_ ,' returned Harry with a roll of his eyes.

The matron huffed and shooed them out of the infirmary. 'Well, if anything comes up, you know where to find me. Now off you go.'

'I didn't know you were on a first-name basis with Madame Pomfrey, Harry,' said Hermione after the door closed behind them with a snap.

Harry shrugged. 'She's kind of giving me lessons every once in a while.'

'What, on healing?' Hermione couldn't help but let a bit of envy bleed through.

'Yes, Hermione, healing. Keep it to yourself, though. She's not, strictly speaking, allowed to teach.'

'Private lessons? That's so nice! Are they difficult?'

'Hm. I don't find them too difficult, but the subject is certainly fairly advanced,' admitted Harry in a straightforward manner.

'That sounded a bit like something Draco might've said,' remarked Hermione to rile him up.

'Please, you two have no right to call me a swot. Even Snape is struggling to come up with anything degrading to say to you lately, Daphne. And you, Hermione, I think it's been weeks since anyone got the spellwork down before you in Transfiguration, and you're practically on top of the class in every other subject too.'

'You mean to say it's okay to sound like Draco as long as you can back it up?' quipped Hermione with a bit of a smile.

'Can we please stop talking about that mutt?' said Daphne with a sneer. 'I still feel like wearing dragon hide gloves whenever he's around.'

Hermione didn't feel like adding salt to the wound, though she didn't exactly feel like speaking out in Draco's favour either.

Harry's eyes darted between the both of them. 'I've been wondering about that. Frankly, I suspected you'd get Amy involved to have your revenge, Daphne.'

'What gives you the impression I haven't?' returned Daphne with a sweet smile.

'I, uh, haven't heard that he's been to the infirmary lately, that's why.'

'He hasn't tried to ride his broom yet, probably.'

'Do I want to know?' asked Harry cautiously.

'I've been brainstorming with Amy, and we decided that it's too difficult to hex a racing broom. But you know what?'

'What?' asked Harry, though Hermione thought they might be better off not knowing.

'It turns out it's pretty simple to just hammer a few sharp needles in that we've had Au-' Daphne cleared her throat, pointedly _not_ looking at Hermione, 'that we've had Amy's mum cast concealment charms on – among other things.'

Hermione hissed in imaginative pain. Harry just seemed to sigh at that. 'It's pretty mean to ruin the one thing he tends to enjoy at Hogwarts, you know?'

'Thanks! That was my idea, actually,' said a beaming Daphne, looking as if she'd gotten great praise. 'I just hope they lift this stupid ban already, so we can have a laugh!'

'Anyway, I need to be off, see you girls later.'

'Where are you off to? We've got a free period before Potions,' said Hermione, looking curious.

'I, er, I...' Harry took a few breaths and then said as fast as possible, 'I've got an arrangement with Aenor.'

Daphne's goofy smile turned frosty within a second. ' _Aenor_?'

'I didn't know you were on a first-name basis with her, too!' said Hermione, taken aback – a reaction Harry obviously much preferred to Greengrass' barely suppressed hostility. Maybe that's why he subtly turned towards her. That way, he didn't have to see Daphne's fierce scowl.

'Oh, well, I, er-'

'How often do you have these little meetings with Rose?' growled Greengrass menacingly.

'About once a week? Look, it's nothing special, Daphne. We just do a little bit of duelling or something, and then we talk things through in her private study...'

Hermione could instantaneously tell that Harry should have cut his sentence a bit shorter. Daphne's left eye twitched a bit. 'In her private study,' the girl repeated coolly.

'Yes, well, it's a bit cosier than duelling chambers, right?'

Daphne stared at him, her expression as stony as the next mountain massif.

'Is that why you were late last lesson?' asked Hermione carefully, making an effort not to jump to conclusions.

'What? Oh, yes. Didn't get much sleep that night, and the both of us kind of forgot the time that morning.'

This time, Hermione, too, stared wordlessly at him.

'A-anyway,' tried Harry again, fidgeting under the intense gazes of both the girls. 'I'd better be off. I'll be seeing you in Potions!'

Hermione's eyes followed him until he vanished around the next corner. Then, involuntarily, she turned towards Greengrass, who followed suit. They looked at each other for near a full minute.

'Do you think he did that intentionally?' asked Hermione, trying to cope with the situation. 'I'm not sure if he's that innocent or rotten to the core!'

'I don't know. I know he can be dull in that regard, but can anyone be _that dull_?'

Hermione and Greengrass exchanged another hesitant look. 'It's not like Harry to say something like that. If it was what it sounded like, then the only reason to say something like that would be to get someone jealous. And that's not something Harry'd do, right?'

'Right,' replied Daphne, visibly relieved. 'Right!'

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. 'Still, there's, er, something that's been giving me pause lately.'

'What?' The other girl eyed her suspiciously, still a bit shaken.

'You remember that conversation you had at the end of last year about engagements? I think Harry's been acting a bit suspicious, what do you think about this...'

 _~BLVoD~_

'There's nothing! Niente! Nada! Nihil! Oudén! Like, absolutely nothing!' cried Tracey, slumping down and resting her head on the pages.

'Please be careful with the book, Tracey. You wouldn't want to accidentally damage the parchment,' said Leo calmly.

'Oh, I won't be damaging it accidentally, don't you worry! Come on, Leo! I've gone over it twice, there's nothing in there about the stuff in the forest or the ICW.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes!'

'Are you absolutely, absolutely sure?' Leo asked again, looking dead serious.

'Yes, I told you!'

'Would you bet 50 Galleons there isn't anything in there?' he asked casually.

'I, uh, well, when I say I'm sure I mean...' It was almost embarrassing to see how fast Tracey's vigour ebbed away.

'I propose you look through it for a third time, then.'

Tracey stuck out her tongue and shot him an ugly look, but nevertheless started, once more, on the first page of the subject index.

Again, Hermione, Daphne, Leo and Tracey bowed silently over their tomes, pondering their contents, browsing for any clue, no matter how small or insignificant.

The silence lasted about four minutes until Tracey once again lost it a bit. 'I don't even know what we're looking for!'

'Native predators that can kill Acromantulas. Magical Beasts that the ICW is involved with. Magical Laws concerning such beasts. Or maybe even something about this Antonius person.'

'I don't like him,' proclaimed Greengrass predictably. 'He was very rude to Harry!'

'And I bet Harry was the poster child of politeness, wasn't he?' Tracey retorted touchily. 'I don't know about this Antonius person, but at least he's not a dork like P-' She coughed meaningfully. 'Like that other guy.'

'Girls, please concentrate. We still have about half the library to work through.'

'This is ridiculous, Leo! There's nothing in here!'

'We haven't looked through more than a few dozen books yet, Tracey,' the younger Lestrange said reasonably.

'Yes, but shouldn't we have stumbled over something at least? Some mention of a name? It's like the entries are missing!' Tracey insisted hotly.

'That's ridiculous. This is a library!' said Hermione, affronted.

'Actually, Harry once confided in me that he believed the library to be a bit...selective with certain topics,' said Daphne with an overbearing little smile.

'Did he, now?' Leo looked up, considering this bit of news.

Hermione scowled. 'Even on the off-chance that's true, that doesn't mean this topic, in particular, has been scrubbed. We won't know until we have a proper look!'

'Thank you, Hermione. That was a very reasonable thing to say.' Leo nodded courteously in her direction before bowing over his book again with an air of having finished the discussion.

Daphne shrugged and continued reading as well. Tracey alone still looked agitated. She grumbled and moaned a bit, turning the pages with the utmost disinterest. But when nobody paid her any attention, she eventually quieted down and settled for levelling contemptuous glares at the books now and then.

Hermione flipped the page, willing her concentration to stay on topic. It was true; she'd never been so disappointed with her research yet, despite the fact that they were five people doing all the work. Or rather, they were five whenever Harry was present _and_ Tracey felt like doing any actual work.

'Leo? Can you tell us anything else? You know, any kind of impression those things gave off?' she asked.

'Well, it's like I said: I don't know if it was one or more. My instinct would lean towards the latter though. They somehow killed the whole tribe of Acromantulas without a fight. In fact, the Acromantulas looked terrified, as if they'd never seen anything like it. Some of them had the blood sucked out of them. It was also uncommonly dark and quiet in the forest with most of the animals scattered or expelled. Whatever creature now calls it home also...flung us out of the clearing with a gust of wind.'

'That's absurd! Don't take it the wrong way, but it's no wonder Draco's taken his leave,' grouched Tracey.

'Oh, and I swear I could hear voices taunting me. I don't mind telling you they were a bit...disturbing.'

'What did the voices say? Did you hear them physically, or was it more of a telepathic kind of thing?' asked Greengrass.

'They didn't so much say anything at all. I didn't get the impression they were bothered with conversation. It was more like...a promise of what was to come: sounds of violence, terrified screaming, the sounds of something ripping apart – that sort of thing.'

'Have I mentioned yet that I really, really see Draco's point?' repeated Tracey with a pleading look at Greengrass.

But the other girl was, or so it seemed, working hard to impress Harry. 'Eyes to the book, Tracey! We're only looking for information. Nobody's forcing you to run into the forest, wand blazing.'

'That's what you say now! We all know how this is going to end up!'

'Eyes – book!' repeated Daphne slowly and emphatically. 'What is that you've got there anyway?'

Tracey rolled her eyes in desperation. 'English mythological poems and prose about magical stuff.'

Hermione sat straight up. 'That sounds fascinating! Please don't put it back; I think I might borrow it for a bit of light reading.'

'Light reading,' muttered Tracey, exasperated. She stood up, holding out one hand dramatically, pointing at some imaginary horizon. 'Listen to this rubbish:

Ere sun dies frore  
And fervent hours wither:  
Harken to the host of hoar,  
Ere the sun dies frore.

Leman, leech and lordling all  
Wherever ye art headed,  
Ere ye see the sea smoke crawleth  
Flee before the dreaded.

Ere glim dies stark  
\- I conjure thee -  
The glebe lies dark;  
Flee!  
Lest thou see the venery in sables.

'It's ridiculous, it's stupid! People got away with anything back then, it seems. How can you even call this a poem?'

Hermione blinked. Then, she blinked again. 'Can you give me that, Tracey, please?'

'Do you mean to tell me you can make heads or tail of that hogwash?' asked Tracey incredulously.

'It's not that difficult. Leo, can you get me a dictionary just to make sure?'

The boy nodded and stood up at once.

'Actually,' started Daphne slowly, looking pensive.

'Don't you go there, too, Daphy! Just because it's old doesn't mean it's good!'

'No, no. I'm with you there, but, you know, I feel like I've heard that one before.'

Hermione looked up, stunned. 'You're positive it was the same poem, Greengrass?'

'I think so. It's...it's been a long time though.'

'But, I mean this isn't the kind of stuff you'd read to your children,' said Hermione. She looked at the faces of Tracey, Greengrass and the re-emerging Leo. 'Or would you?' she asked meekly.

'I've heard loads of stories like that growing up,' admitted Tracey. 'Didn't have to suffer that one, though, thank Merlin.'

'Me, too,' said Greengrass with a reminiscent smile.

'Definitely. Now that you mention it, Daphne, I think I remember something similar to this in a children's story.'

'A children's story?' Hermione asked, horrified. 'That's some dark stuff!'

'You mean darker than witches baking little, innocent Muggle children and eating them?' asked Leo mildly.

Hermione hesitated for just a second. 'Point taken.' Hermione had never presumed many of the more classical fairy-tales to be innocent, but looking at it from this perspective, they really were quite nasty and ugly.

Leo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, oblivious to Hermione's thought process, looking over her shoulder at the text Tracey had gladly shoved their way. 'I think the poem's about Dementors.'

Hermione, startled, looked up again, eyes widening. 'That's...brilliant! I think you're right, Leo!'

Leo nodded curtly, acknowledging her accolade. 'Sadly, that also means this isn't it.'

'But it wasn't a bad shot! It felt closer than anything we've had until now,' interposed Greengrass.

'True. We'd better start paying more attention to old stories, myths, and the like,' decided Hermione excitedly.

'Oh, no!' Tracey cried out in dismay.

'But maybe we should have someone more motivated have a look at it,' remarked Leo with a little smirk.

'Harry? Harry Black! Aw, Black isn't here, is he? Do you guys think he'll come later? Can I make an appointment? What do you think?'

Hermione turned, as did the rest of the group. Behind them stood a stocky Ravenclaw with whom they shared their History of Magic lesson. His eyes were darting around the room, inspecting every nook and cranny, apparently making sure Harry hadn't, for whatever inexplicable reason, been stuffed into some corner to hide him from view.

'Harry's not here. What do you want, Fawcett?' Daphne thrust out of her chair, her arms folded and looking at the newcomer with the utmost suspicion.

'Oh. I was just supposed to give you guys these, but I'd hoped... Ah, well. Can you give this to him, then? And Lestrange, could you give this to your sister, please? This is for you, Davis.' Fawcett produced three sealed bits of parchment, handing one to Tracey, one Leo, and, after briefly hesitating, the last one to Greengrass, who'd already held out her hand demandingly.

'Thank you,' said Leo indifferently, pocketing the parchment. When Fawcett still looked around, apparently wondering if Harry might suddenly appear from behind an alcove, he said callously, 'You may leave now, Fawcett.'

With a disappointed shrug, the Ravenclaw turned around and left the library.

'He's a strange one,' said Tracey with an amused glint in her eyes. 'Competition for you, Daphy!'

'Oh, please! Anyway, what's in there?'

'Well, let's see.' Tracey opened her letter and scanned through the contents. 'Oh, joy!' She threw up her arms in false jubilation. 'We're having detention tonight.'

'What, Harry and Amy, too?' asked Greengrass.

'Looks like it, doesn't it? This is such a drag! I hope it's something dull.'

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry walked through the ancient castle, once again regretting his recent actions. That was, worryingly enough, becoming a bit of a thing as of late. _Damn it all! I messed up again._ The whole castle was bustling with excited chatter again: how Black had lost his composure, how Black had threatened a teacher, how Black had actually attacked a teacher...

Harry hadn't, of course, but he'd fired his wand, and he really should've known better than to hope the story would be spread exactly as it happened. The Portkey, the owl, and now this... The list of his outbursts was getting quite long already – in barely more than a few weeks, that is. Arguably, one might also include his decision to join Leo on his little adventure. He'd been sure that he could handle the inhabitants in there as long as Draco and Leo backed him up but looking back...

On the plus side of things, he certainly _did_ enjoy the newfound benefits of Occlumency. He still was anything but comfortable with most women, but at least he found those he knew better more bearable without the random spikes of panic that had always coursed through him at seemingly arbitrary intervals. Still, he felt no _pressing_ need to tell Daphne about that bit. She was still being indulgent with him, relatively speaking of course, and if Harry valued anything, then it was without a doubt his freedom.

Still, he vowed to keep a closer watch on his temper. He was a Black, and such behaviour was unbecoming and unworthy of his family. Well, for most, at least. Poor Walburga.

Coming to a halt in front of a very specific door, he knocked.

'Come in!' a feminine voice commanded.

Aenor sat behind her cherished desk, her head lazily supported by one hand, skimming through the pages of two books at once with a look of intense concentration. When she heard the door shut, she looked up, rubbing her eyes. 'There you are. Good, I can do with a little bit of a distraction right now.'

'Still busy with your little project?' Harry asked as he sat down, not in front of the desk, instead choosing a seat by the fire.

'You could say that. I'm in a bit of a bind, though.'

'Problem?' asked Harry, somewhat surprised.

'No, not in the usual sense. But time might be running short. Anyway, you've been busy, too, or so I hear.' She stood up, grinning, before she busied herself with her private and well-stocked bar.

'Have I? I don't seem to recall,' Harry answered neutrally.

Aenor approached with a glass and a bottle of gin. Seeing his expression, she said with a wink, 'I'd offer you one, too, but you still have Potions today, and I don't want Snape snooping around again.'

Harry shrugged. He didn't share Aenor's fascination with spirits.

'I was talking about your run-in with Prewett. The version that finally reached my ears was as embellished as a soldier's schmooze. Here's to you!' She downed the contents of her glass all with a look of great satisfaction, softly smacking her full lips.

Harry scowled. _Fantastic, just as I thought. It's a small mercy that Dumbledore hasn't invited me again for one of his small talks at least._ 'I detest the man, true, but I regret my outburst.'

'You didn't force him to the wall, threatening to curse his skin off, only to get interrupted by three Aurors who managed to peel you off him, but not before you cursed Prewett and dramatically threatened to end him, then?' she asked good-naturedly.

Harry's fingers clutched the wand in his sleeve tightly. 'No.'

'Pity! I prefer that version.'

'Granted, I did threaten him, I guess,' admitted Harry.

'You did?' Aenor looked at him, pleasantly surprised. 'Attaboy.'

'Say, do I really have to sit your lessons this year? Can't we make a deal again?'

'Oh? You don't want to see me anymore? I'm _hurt_ , Harry!'

And she certainly did look it. If Harry hadn't known her so well, he would've fallen for it every time. She really was a piece of work. 'It's just a waste of time. I thought you might be sympathetic, seeing as you don't like squandering your off-time with, as you call them, snotty brats.'

'You know, if it was up to me, we'd be fine like that, but Dumbledore got a bit bothersome about it last year. I'll leave you mostly alone, and you can read up on whatever you feel like. Unless I need you for a demonstration or something. That okay?'

'I guess so. Anyway, what's up with you?' Harry asked with a smirk. 'Don't you think you went a bit overboard that one lesson? Not everyone in that class is an honest idiot; a few must have noticed that you were advocating the Unforgivables.'

Aenor threw back her head and laughed. 'So what? What's life without a bit of fun?!'

'Neither Dumbledore nor the Ministry is going to be impressed by that, I'd wager.'

'As if I care! They can't do anything to me as long as your grandfather and his associates back me up. I can just imagine Malfoy's smirk.' She put down her glass and sat up straight, looking at him with one eyebrow slightly raised, her lips a thin line of displeasure. 'It occurs, Minister,' she said in a good imitation of Lucius' bored drawl, 'that all your so-called allegations are based on conjecture and the babble of fools. Need I remind you that it is the Board of Governors that ultimately handles disciplinary issues with staff or students? We shall take actions – in the event they prove necessary.'

Aenor laughed that wild laugh of hers again, and Harry couldn't help joining this time.

'Can't wait for your NEWT class! When you're promoting illegal curses already in second year, I bet they'll be interesting.'

She looked at him, one finger playing with the rim of the glass. 'You'll have to find out for yourself, won't you?' She cockily raised an eyebrow at him, pouring herself another drink.

'Are you already done with lessons today?' Harry asked, slightly taken aback. The delicate woman before him had already worked through two extremely generously filled glasses in less than five minutes.

'Yeah, no more snotty brats for today.' She raised her hand to her cheeks, speaking in a falsely high voice. 'Oh, Miss Rose, I didn't understand that bit, could you please explain that again? Miss Rose! I'm sorry but I had an accident in Potions, and Professor Snape insisted I clean up. I'm sorry, Miss Rose, my cat ate my homework.' She rolled her eyes airily. 'If those nettlers ever make it into some serious jobs, the world will end, I tell you. And amidst the chaos and confusion, you'll hear someone sheepishly protesting, "I'm sorry, Miss Rose. I didn't know I wasn't to open the box with the skull on it!"'

Harry smiled, shifting in his seat to make himself comfortable. 'Well, I see your point. A few of them are a bit hopeless.'

'You said it!'

'Do you have Butterbeer?' Harry asked abruptly, giving in to the relaxed atmosphere.

'Of course, I do! That's the spirit, Harry!' Beaming, she flicked her wand, summoning both a glass and one of her foreign brands. With a wiggle of her wand, the crown cap came loose and the bottle neatly filled Harry's glass.

'Thanks!'

'Cheers!' Aenor took another hefty swig, closing her eyes and sighing happily.

'Oh, yeah, there's something I wanted to show you.'

Harry took out his wand and pointed it at the bottleneck, muttering for a few seconds. Then, with a grin, he threw the half-full bottle towards Aenor, who caught it easily, albeit with a yell. 'What in the blaz-'

She stopped mid-sentence. Not a single drop of liquid had been spilt. Furrowing her brow, she inspected the bottle closer.

Harry watched her intently. Aenor seemed to be hiding her emotions, as she seemed prone to do whenever she was thinking fast, staring at the opening of the bottle without any impulse, until her eyes flickered lightning-fast towards Harry. Her eyes, he couldn't help marvelling, were still as addicting to lose yourself in as ever. 'You did it wrong!' she said, though the tone of her voice was still very guarded.

'I know, but this is how far I've come.'

'You cheeky brat! It hasn't even been one week. Have you read those books I gave you?'

'Most of them. Interesting lecture. Especially the one about the passage of intangible matter like souls.' And that was true. Harry had devoured that book in one go. Even though the little manual was nearly as dark as some of the more esoteric tomes the Black family library proudly exhibited, he hadn't been that engrossed in a while. Not least of all because that sort of research was heavily restricted in Britain.

'I thought you wanted to understand and not fall in line with all the sycophants,' she said, narrowing her eyes a bit.

'I wasn't being sarcastic. I read the whole thing in three hours. Unbelievable that research is more than three centuries old,' he said earnestly.

'Oh!' For a second, Aenor looked almost relieved. But her expression of mild concern soon made way for one of her teasing grins. 'Well, you fail.'

Slightly slumped, Harry watched her wordlessly and offhandedly banishing her glass and the bottle of gin. She stared right back at him, her grin slowly turning into solemn attentiveness.

He just stared back, slightly uneasy.

'Come on, let's get started for real.' She looked at him, her lips turned upwards, her face ever so slightly flushed – eager, serious, and – in contrast to biological likelihood – sober. 'Oh, and Harry?'

'Hm?' he said, unable to tear himself away from her piercing eyes.

She was smiling again, but it wasn't her usual whimsical smile, but rather a truly serene, beautiful, and most shockingly of all, honest smile that encased her in an addicting radiance. 'That was a magnificent first try.'

 _~BLVoD~_

'So you're all here, are you, you little blighters?' Filch spat with a nasty leer.

Harry stared expressionlessly at the man. Tracey and Fawley both scowled. Amy, on the other hand, looked torn between amusement and indignity. She wouldn't take it well being talked down to, especially by a Squib, Harry knew.

'Well, this here be your punishment, so listen up; I'll only be telling you once. You are to scrub all the benches and tables. If there are any stains you cannot remove with this,' he pointed towards a big bucket with some cleaning solution, 'you are to emery the patch till it comes off. You'll only be allowed to leave when you've got everything all shiny and new, so best get to it if you want to have even a few hours of sleep. Oh, and no magic!' Cackling menacingly, he left them standing there, his feline deputy stalking after him.

Amy's hand twitched, and she looked petitionary at Harry, who shook his head slightly.

'Oh, this is just great. Just great! Now I have to do servant's stuff with Black and his cronies of all people. Great!' Fawley grabbed the nearest empty bucket and filled it angrily with the cleaning solution.

'Could be worse,' said Tracey with a crooked smile. 'At least it's nothing dangerous or gross.'

'We aren't really going to do this, are we, Harry?' asked Amy disbelievingly. In a quiet voice, she added, 'I don't like agreeing with the idiot over there, but this _is_ servant's work.'

'I have absolutely no intention of scrubbing benches, Amy.'

'Nice!' Without another comment, she walked towards the nearest bench, pulled it out a bit, and sat down, resting her feet on the table, her back leaning against the wall behind her. 'Wake me when the Squib comes screaming.'

'You can't do that! You'll get us all into trouble,' protested Fawley, though Harry noticed that the complaint seemed directed at him or, possibly, Tracey rather than the elder Lestrange.

'What are you up to?' asked Tracey.

'Absolutely nothing. Minnie! Cranky!'

Two pops not more than half a millisecond apart later, his favourite house-elves stood before him, bowing profusely. 'Cranky apologises for the delay, Master Harry. How can we serve?'

Minnie, too, looked extremely avid to be of service, showering him in a somewhat uncomfortable look of motherly concern.

'Oh, your house-elves? Nice one!' Amy showed him a thumbs-up, covering her eyes with her hood. 'Can you get the light, Harry?'

With a grin, Harry pointed his wand at the candles in the air. They immediately dimmed to a soothing, orange half-light.

'Awesome, thanks a bunch!' Amy shifted a bit back and forth until she was apparently satisfied, letting out a sigh and closing her eyes.

'Cranky, Minnie? Would you be so kind as to clean the benches and tables?'

'It will be done, Master Harry,' said Cranky evenly.

Minnie looked horrified at the state of the tables that were, in all fairness, more or less completely clean. 'Minnie is shocked that Master Harry has to sit and eat here. What is those bad elves doing all the time?'

Fawley, still carrying the bucket, came over, managing to look relieved and angry all the same. 'Er, thanks, I guess.'

'We won't be helping you, pea-brains!' called Amy, her eyes still closed. 'If you don't do your part, we'll have the elves leave a bit out and say you didn't do anything.'

'B-but...' He looked around for moral support, only to find Tracey smirking at him and Harry not paying attention at all. Hanging his head in defeat, he marched off towards the other end of the hall, dragging the bucket and cleaning rag behind him.

'Harry?' Tracey had, in the meantime, walked over, and was bouncing on her feet, looking up at him imploringly. 'Pretty please?'

Harry sighed. 'Minnie? Could you get Tracey a mug of hot chocolate, please?'

'Thanks!' Tracey cheered, her eyes all sparkly.

'At once, Master Harry!'

'No, no! Er, you may take your time,' he said with a smile, ignoring Tracey's displeased groan.

It was pretty boring work, thought Harry. Well, if you considered it work to watch your house-elves clean not only the benches and tables but the whole hall with the utmost prejudice. Except for that little bit Fawley had to work on, of course. You really had to hand it to her; when it came to parenthetical skulduggery, Amy was the indisputable number one. Even in her current probably sleeping state, she still managed to intimidate Fawley so much that he gave them a wide berth.

Tracey sat beside him, energetically swinging her legs that still didn't quite reach the floor, enjoying her second hot chocolate with the straw Minnie had gotten her. Harry was reading.

'It's not too bad. We should do this detention thing more often,' opined Tracey with an extreme slurping sound. 'Just hanging out, hot chocolate, no work, nothing icky like Potions, hot chocolate, watching other people work and hot chocolate; it's almost perfect!'

Amy grumbled something in her sleep, and Harry couldn't help himself and sniggered.

'What did she say? Is she awake?'

'I don't think so. She said, "lazy disgrace of a Squib".'

A loud bang from the direction of the front door interrupted their friendly picnic. Amy sat up like a toy that had been wound up. 'Trouble?'

'I think that was the Entrance Hall. Want to check it out?'

'Can we not, please?' asked Tracey, annoyed. 'My chocolate is getting cold, and it's not our problem!'

'Okay, then. You stay here and watch Fawley. We'll be back in a minute.' With a nod at his cousin, Harry drew his wand and dashed towards the entrance of the castle, Amy on his heels.

When they finally reached the last corner behind which the front portal lay, Harry held up his hand and cautiously peeked around the corner.

The gigantic ICW Auror, sporting a few scratches on his cheek, was dragging a handful of his hopefully unconscious and decidedly bloody colleagues behind him. One man, Harry noticed, seemed to be missing his entire right arm. Another seemed to have some kind of intrusions near his carotid artery. Their robes looked torn, their boots muddy. To his discomfort, he saw Prewett's motionless body among the injured men and women.

So this was the glorious foray Prewett had allegedly boasted about.

'Students!' Antonius yelled. 'You, Lestrange, go get your matron – immediately!'

When Amy, instead of following his orders, looked inquiringly at Harry, the man shouted, 'At once!'

With a shrug, Amy jogged leisurely towards the infirmary.

'I need to see the headmaster. You, Black, keep watch, and don't you touch that door, whatever you do!'

And off he was.

Harry shot a curious look towards the portal – it glowed with wiggling sigils and runes he'd never seen before. _Guess this guy is the real deal._

One of the men on the floor moaned in pain, causing Harry to give them a second glance. He'd seen lots of injuries in his life; dozens of curses gone wrong, several disfigurements, and even a few corpses, but these men looked horrible even by the dark standards of his family. The corridor was thick with the stench of blood, death and fear.

Prewett was bleeding, he realised.

Slowly, Harry produced his wand, pointing it at the deep gash on the man's arm.

It was an easy spell, he knew. He'd done it several times – dozens!

But when Madam Pomfrey finally came running, she found his wand arm shaking, still pointed at Prewett's bleeding wound.

'Oh my...Harry! What are you doing?! Stop the bleeding like I know you can!'

'I can't,' he whispered, his voice raw.

'Of course, you can, dear!' Madam Pomfrey looked at him in concern as she started casting spells at the man who'd lost his arm. 'Come on, try again! I know you can do it.'

'I can't, Poppy. I can't!'

'What do you mean, you can't?'

Harry stared at the loathsome man at his feet, his wand arm still trembling, the voices of two terrified girls screaming for their father ringing in his ears. 'If I do it now, I'm not so sure the right spell will come out.'


	35. VoD: Grinding halt

**Grinding halt**

* * *

'You're still doing it wrong. Concentrate, for Cagliostro's sake!' Aenor rolled her eyes in mild annoyance, looking down at his work from over a still steaming pretzel.

'I'm trying,' snarled Harry.

'You're not trying hard enough, then! Are you imagining channels again? I told you to drop that!'

'Well, the magic has to come from somewhere, doesn't it?' Harry shot back. He felt drained and tired. Even though he was glad that the apparently prodigiously busy Aenor was making time for him, he really couldn't find it in himself to appreciate early morning private lessons. His sleeping patterns had become a mess as a result. That wasn't a problem for Harry as such; his cousin keeping a close eye on him and berating him for falling asleep during lessons, however, was.

'Don't be daft; magic isn't water! The moment your thoughts confine magic to the physical limitations of mundane substances, you restrict your own possibilities.'

'Well, how am I supposed to imagine something I can't ever see?!'

'Beats me how you go about it,' she answered, unconcerned. 'Just do it! You've got most of the basics down, but if you can't get beyond the distribution problem, you'll never get it right.'

'This is absurd,' Harry muttered weakly.

For the first time in his life, Harry was confronted with a magical problem he just couldn't solve – no matter how often he tried. It wasn't just the difficulty of the task per se. No, the nature of the task itself was so ridiculously alien to the human mind that he had trouble coming up with ideas to overcome it. 'Make it as powerful as you can. Distribute the magic equally,' had been Aenor's instructions. 'But don't restrain it. It needs to flow freely, without any limitations to its possible movement.'

So here he was, again, still trying to solve this insane puzzle from his tutor, exactly like he'd done the last week. How could something be condensed and still unrestrained? How could something so powerful be unbound?

Harry looked down at the little wooden frame he was working on. It rather looked as if he'd pried a window off a doll's house. He furrowed his brow, annoyed.

He knew he _could_ get to the bottom of this problem instantly – probably; all it needed was a little peek through his other eyes, after all. Harry would be the first to admit that he regarded fair play as little more than a welcome way for his enemies to fall upon their own swords, but he couldn't help admitting that resorting to his still completely mysterious perception of magic felt a bit like cheating.

 _No, that isn't it_ , he silently corrected himself. _It feels like giving up._

'Say,' he began anew, his voice dripping reluctance.

'Yes?' Aenor looked up. She too seemed preoccupied, albeit with a despairing choice between the croissant in her left hand and something that smelled of hazelnut mousse on a biscuit coated with chocolate in the another.

'I've never heard of anything like this before! What level would this...method of distribution be, speaking in terms of the British education system?'

'Didn't I say? Probably apprenticeship level, possibly beyond that. Filius and Dumbledore are sure to have mastered this technique, whereas McGonagall and Severus at least possess the talent and intellectual capacity to learn it. Can't say if they ever bothered. The rest don't, I'm afraid.'

'So, on a scale of ten,' Harry insisted, watching her closely.

'The spell overall? Seven and a quarter,' she responded dismissively. Then, her eyes lit up, and she put the croissant down, her eyes now fixed on the little cookie she held high in her delicate right hand.

Harry wasn't convinced. 'What level would the Patronus be, then?'

'Five,' she said with a light-hearted grin, as she took an extremely lady-like bite out of her edible treasure.

'Five?' Harry repeated hoarsely. The Patronus wasn't a NEWT level spell without reason. While most people eventually managed to get it somewhat right, the overwhelming majority of witches and wizards wouldn't ever be able to use it in the face of Dementors or Lethifolds.

'Five. Good example, really. The Patronus is the skill ceiling for the average citizen, so it's five. Six would be those magics slightly over the head of most, like the Unforgivables, except, arguably, _Avada Kedavra_ , which is more like a six and a half, really.'

'So what's a ten?' he asked in a voice that was suitably hushed in the presence of the Killing Curse.

She looked up, gazing at the ceiling, her snack suspended in mid-air. The appetite for sweet things seemed to slowly drain from her eyes, replaced by some other, more powerful craving. 'Such things are beyond the realm of mortals such as you and I.'

'But they exist?'

Their eyes met. 'They do,' she said with an enticing smile.

Harry stared at the wooden frame again. Then, he smirked. 'What do I get if I get the distribution right within the next five minutes after one last demonstration?'

She cocked an eyebrow, looking down at him with something akin to amusement. 'Oh, you want to play games? What do you have in mind?'

Harry brazenly looked back. He knew what he wanted after all. 'One personal question regarding your origin.'

Her effortlessly beaming smile didn't recede, though Harry rather thought he saw something behind her eyes shift slightly. 'How very presuming of you,' she returned with a beguiling wink. 'And if you fail? How about you tell me about your remarkable connection to magic, then?'

Harry made every effort not to show any reaction to her proposition. He also distinctly remembered Arcturus strictly forbidding him from disclosing his, well, condition to any other person. But he couldn't lose, could he? Surely... And even then, he'd probably get away with telling some half-truths, right?

'Deal,' he said, holding out his hand and inwardly feeling quite elated to see her eyes widen momentarily. After the briefest moment of hesitation, she shook it.

Wordlessly, her eyes still on his, she took the wooden frame from his hand, drawing her wand. Harry finally looked away, his eyes drilling into the softly shining white wand of the witch opposite him.

With less effort than he had anticipated, he allowed his second vision to break free of the shackles of his Occlumency. Aenor still was the same indomitable vortex of light she'd always been: radiant, blinding, unfathomable. Her ivory wand seemed to be humming, singing to the sound of the waves of light that rolled off her. Slowly, the wand approached the frame.

Practised, easy movement, and then a flash of such intensity that Harry winced. There it was – still as magnificent as ever. Through these eyes, Harry instantly recognised why the image of water was so deeply ingrained within his mind; the barrier looked exactly like a rippled pond – a vertical pond of striking translucence, that is.

'Five minutes starting now,' murmured Aenor, waving her wand and conjuring an empty but otherwise identical wooden frame atop the table.

Harry gazed at the small window in his hand that, now more than ever, looked like a bizarre gateway to another world, a softly rippling watery substance spanning between the wood. With care, he put it down on the table. The barrier didn't seem connected to the wood in any tangible way he could identify. When he kneeled down to look at it from the side, he also saw the ripple seemed to be, perplexingly, of a two-dimensional nature, as he couldn't make out any kind of elevation. The waves, however, seemed to be receding, he noted when a few moments had passed.

'Four minutes.'

Closely, he watched the waves shrink and shrink. There _were_ lines, he noted, almost invisible – even to his eye – but definitely there. No wonder that image, too, had stuck to his mind. He remembered seeing them even back during his first-ever class with Aenor when he still hadn't felt quite as comfortable with his second vision. His eyes traced the lines, looking for any sort of clue to their purpose. The ripples didn't seem connected to them at all, crossing over them, sometimes from this direction, sometimes from another.

'Three minutes.'

The lines stretched from the centre to the very edge of the frame in a manner vaguely resembling a spider's web. Eyes now barely a few inches from the frame, he watched the last, faintest ripples flowing outwards again, before being bounced back, apparently by the frame.

Harry frowned, watching another miniature wave bounce off the frame. No, not the frame exactly, he noted, his eyes widening.

'Two minutes.'

The hooks of the 'spider web' were indeed touching the frame - most of them, that is. One lone hook had, inexplicably, started to lose its connection to the frame, and here the waves seemed to bounce off the air itself. The frame wasn't the boundary to the ward, the spider pattern was!

On a hunch, he hastily produced his wand, shooting a disarming spell at the space between the frame. His human eyes perceived a scarlet light, his second set of senses, however, insisted it saw something blue with the sweet fragrance of mint race towards the barrier.

'One minute.'

The spell vanished as soon as it touched the surface of the non-water, and the ripples visibly swelled. Harry's eyes darted towards the corner where one of the fastenings had come undone. To his astonishment, it now clung firm to the frame once more. His head was so close now to the frame that he could smell the wood – pine.

'Thirty seconds.'

He could smell something else, too. It was faint, but he could swear a whiff of something he associated with gardens came off the disturbed surface. Ignoring how it must look, he gave the magic a tentative sniff.

'Ten...'

It smelled of mint.

'...nine...'

So, somehow, inexplicably, his charm was still in there.

'...eight...'

His eyes darted towards the edge of the frame, to the now-restored hook.

'...seven...'

His spell was, in fact, powering the ward, he realised with a jolt.

'...six...'

So that's why Aenor had told him to make it as strong as he could.

'...five...'

The barrier would collapse if it ran out of energy after all.

'...four...'

So the real trick wasn't to forcefully contain the magic, but to make it self-containing, to use its own energy and those of inbound spells!

'...three...'

Harry raised his wand towards the second wooden frame and closed his eyes in concentration.

'...two...'

He felt the magic erupt from his wand, heard the approving purring that sounded like a tomcat enjoying the sun, saw, even through his closed eyes, the web of lines leave his wand, duller, less coordinated than Aenor's and still feeling somewhat off, but there it was.

Breathing deeply, he opened his eyes. Aenor was silently prodding the second frame with her wand, muttering something under her breath in a tongue he didn't understand.

Eventually, she looked up, her face blank. 'It seems I owe you one answer.'

'Why did you help me?' he asked, feeling exhausted.

'Pardon me?'

Harry sat back down, closing his eyes again, and rubbing his temples, finally reining in his rampant perception. 'If you'd powered the barrier with all you've got, I would never have noticed.'

'Noticed what?' she asked, unblinking.

'That the barrier feeds upon itself and inbound magic both,' he muttered wearily.

She folded her arms with a grin. 'What else did you pick up?'

'The barrier seems prone to expanding when oversaturated,' he answered, at last opening his eyes.

'That can, in fact, be amended,' she said with a quick smile. 'I'm not totally heartless, you know, so I gave you a chance.' She slowly prowled around the desk, her eyes firmly fixed on Harry. 'Besides, it was fascinating to see you work it out. How extraordinary that the smell of it seems to have helped you.'

Harry kept his face conscientiously blank.

'Marvellous,' she whispered. With an offhanded wave of her wand, her basket with pastries vanished. 'I propose we get a bit more serious about your education from now on.'

 _~BLVoD~_

'Where have you been?' demanded Daphne, tapping her foot and looking Harry over from head to toe as he finally took a seat at the table, routinely ignoring the muttering and pointing. He was, sadly, that used to it.

Though he was preoccupied with suppressing a frown, he couldn't help but notice that not only Tracey, whom he knew to hold a terrible and incomprehensible grudge against Aenor, perked up, but Hermione, too. The brown-haired and usually rather submissive Muggle-born appeared rather suspicious for whatever reason.

'Private lesson,' he mumbled, taking a seat next to one of his two friends that were sure to not give a damn with whom he spent his time.

Amy yawned loudly, mildly amused by the other three girls' somewhat hostile glares. 'Is it really such a big deal whether or not he spends an inappropriate amount of time with the mysterious foreigner who just so happens to be young and beautiful?'

'Yes, it is!' snapped Tracey. 'She's untrustworthy, and we don't know anything about her. Look at her; lording over us, smiling smugly, playing the perfect pure-blood princess. She's a total fake!'

'You in for more detention, Tracey?' asked Amy with a lazy grin, lading her plate with two juicy cuts of steak.

'I don't give a damn,' claimed Tracey, though her eyebrows twitched treacherously.

'Why are you defending her anyway?' asked Hermione. 'I mean, from what I hear, you're the one giving Professor Rose the most trouble.' Harry watched with interest how Hermione seemed to wilt when his cousin's gaze coolly washer over her. 'Er, Miss Lestrange,' Hermione added hastily.

'That's nothing personal,' said Amy with a shrug. 'It's all good fun, Little Miss Mudblood.'

'You tried to get her with a _Shrivelling Hex_ yesterday, Amy,' Tracey chipped in, unconvinced. 'From behind!'

'Your point being?'

'Well, you spent the whole day in the infirmary when Rose's Counter-Curse hit you. Aren't you upset?'

Amy looked up, confused. 'Why would I be? I learned something, didn't I? Besides, she didn't even give me detention!'

Harry chuckled. Admittedly, one needed some time to get used to the Lestrange's peculiar reactions, but Hermione's expression, in particular, was simply hilarious.

'She cursed your fingers off,' stated Hermione, not unlike a doctor addressing a patient in a straitjacket.

'It was a good curse,' Amy replied with a nod.

'Anyway, why is everyone looking at us?' asked Leo, coughing politely. 'Or, to be exact, at you, Harry.'

Sure enough, many Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were craning their necks; some even seemed to have stood up to get a better look.

'I don't even care anymore,' replied Harry.

'I, er, heard a few people muttering in the library,' said Hermione with a nervous look.

'Oh?' said Harry, raising an eyebrow. 'Please do go on. I can hardly refrain myself from listening to the latest of Hogwarts' drivel.'

'Well, er, they're-' Hermione faltered for a second, before she hastily continued with the obvious hope of getting the worst out of the way fast, 'they're remarking how strange it is that you had a row with Professor Prewett one day, and then, only a few days later, he's apparently in St. Mungo's in critical condition with no explanation given to us.'

'That wasn't me, though,' said Harry with an effort given to sounding uncaring.

'I, er, don't believe they'll take your word for it,' said Hermione, appearing apologetic.

'That's nonsense!' protested Amy.

'Well, of course, it is but-' said Hermione, nodding.

'I mean, if Harry wanted Prewett dead, he'd hardly be in hospital, would he?'

Again, Hermione looked at Amy, obviously trying to decide if the girl had been serious. Harry, for that matter, wondered the exact same thing.

'You, er, didn't attack him, did you, Harry?' Hermione asked after a while, her voice a bit unsteady.

'No.'

Hermione tried and failed to hide a little relief. 'Of course, you didn't.'

'I wish I had, though.'

Silence washed over the little group. A foot from somewhere opposite him, Daphne's place, brushed against his robes, but Harry didn't look up, staring at his cup of pumpkin juice. A few heads around them had turned as well.

'That's not helping it at all, Harry!' noted Hermione with a panicky undertone.

Harry shrugged, taking a swig.

'What's it you've got against Prewett anyway, Black?' Harry looked around, turning towards the voice that had asked the question that was, by the look of things, on everyone's mind.

The silence seemed to swell, swallowing all the innocent conversations in their immediate vicinity. Zabini, who returned his gaze evenly, didn't seem to mind that half the house, and a few Ravenclaws to boot, seemed to be listening in.

'In addition to him being a twerp, obviously,' the dark-skinned boy continued.

'What gives you the impression that I have anything against the man, Zabini?' Harry returned politely.

'If I had to point at something, it'd be that look of yours that says you're trying your best not to pull your wand whenever he's around.' Zabini picked up his cup, taking a carefully measured sip. 'Could just be me, of course.'

Harry stared back at the boy who didn't seem at all fazed by his scrutinising look. _Well, Zabini_ is _pure-blood and has been part of this little game of ours for nearly as long as I have_ , Harry reminded himself. 'I'm sure I don't know what-' He was about to gloss it over until words somehow seemed to fail him. Frowning, he leant back in his chair, his eyes still drilling into Zabini in search of answers. He'd been doing this very thing over and over again, and where had denial gotten him?

'What was that, Black?' The bubble of attention that was focused on Zabini and him seemed to grow still. Snape and Aenor, too, seemed to be paying attention to them, even though Harry had deliberately chosen a place as far away as possible.

Harry stared, his thoughts racing. He'd come to Hogwarts, expecting a chance, any chance to improve his reputation, as well as that of his family. He remembered vividly how he'd thought getting Hermione into Slytherin back then was his first step to somehow redeem himself.

'Black?' Zabini's voice echoed from somewhere far away.

What a foolish endeavour that had been. He'd been ostracised the very first second he'd set foot at Hogwarts. Hadn't Arcturus even warned him back then, the day before his sorting, that he shouldn't shoulder the weight all by himself? Why did he even bother? Here they were, once again, muttering, pointing, babbling about him. And because of what? Because of that bloody fool Prewett.

'Harry?' called Daphne, increasingly concerned. The whole table had become silent by now.

He was sick and tired of being put on the spot like that. He'd learned to deal with the pressure, of course, but why did he have to struggle like that all the time? Naturally, he was doing his best to preserve whatever face the House of Black still had when he was exposed to the public – and for bloody what? More newspaper articles vilifying him, more rumours, and even more attention.

Daphne and Tracey exchanged nervous glances, but Harry barely even saw them. His mind was bubbling with suppressed rage as he continued to stare at the calm figure of Blaise Zabini.

Rage. Yes, Harry felt burning anger. What was he even doing? Even if he continued to deny everything, play nice whenever possible, all that would end up achieving was to paint him a struggling fool. He'd never win like that. This wasn't some trashy fairy tale; he wouldn't save the princess, Merlin knew who that would be, to be proclaimed the prince, all sins forgiven. Yes, Harry was angry, because somehow it felt as if he'd wasted more than one year pretending to be someone he wasn't just so they could pile abuse upon abuse. There'd never be an end to this, and he'd never be given the chance to prove himself – because _they_ had no interest in redeeming him or his family.

Most of the Ravenclaws, too, now gaped in silence at the wordless exchange between Zabini and Harry.

What had his grandfather said? 'Treat your entire stay at Hogwarts as a matter of House Black.' Was he being stupid?

'Harry?' Daphne had stood up and gone around the table, tugging softly at his sleeve with a look of looming panic.

What were the odds, really, of House Black ever finding itself back in the graces of Wizarding Britain? Was the term odds even applicable? It was hard to imagine a chain of events that would end with the Pillars burying their grudge. Arcturus, he was sure, would be pragmatic enough to set aside his personal opinion for the benefit of the family, but would the Pillars? Why would that ever be in their interest? To keep an unsuspecting population happy, a common enemy was a fine tool to have. That Arcturus had worked to undermine the Pillars in the past wouldn't help them either, not even taking into account Prewett's and Arcturus' personal history. So why would they ever allow him to redeem himself? For a brief moment, the image of him and Prewett shaking hands, Dumbledore beaming in the background, awarding them both a fatherly smile and warm applause flashed through his mind. The scene was so ridiculous that Harry couldn't help chuckling.

The onlookers, startled by the sudden reaction, started muttering, or, in the case of a few Gryffindors, yelling some witty remark about the state of Harry's sanity.

'He's finally losing it now!'

'Everyone, get down on your knees; it's the emergence of Dark Lord Black!'

'Dark Lord Black? You're joking, Fred!'

'Everyone knows that when you start chuckling in a sinister way while the centre of attention, it's all over for you! Bow to our lord and master!'

He'd never be friends with the likes of Prewett. It wasn't that he thought himself superior to the man, morally speaking at least. Both Prewett and the Blacks had done some rather damning things, but what differentiated them was that Prewett pretended to be the heaven-sent messenger of virtue, while the Blacks didn't exactly deny what they were. The laughter died in his throat. Was he?

Amy was leaning over, watching him like a patriot who heard the sound of war drums.

Treat your stay as a matter of House Black, his grandfather had said. So what would be in the interest of House Black? To act up? No! To be apologetic? No! To continue showing weakness in the face of unrelenting opposition? Hell, no! Hadn't Arcturus strode in and flat out sent Prewett to the floor? Were the Blacks supposed to be meek and defensive? No!

For a fraction of a second, his eyes wandered to both of his cousins. Daphne watched him with worry bordering on fear. Amy's eyes, by stark contrast, were wide with gleeful anticipation.

The Lestranges, Harry would admit any day, had built their homes a bit too close to the edge of the abyss, but here they were, the only family still publicly supporting the Blacks. What good had it done them? They'd lost nearly all their influence, their businesses had dried up, their public image was in tatters. Did they reconsider? Did they regret?

Slowly, like a bear after long weeks of slumber, Harry rose from his chair.

The pillars coveted fame, admiration and adoration, whereas Harry had only infamy and fear to work with right now. But you played the cards you were given.

'Because he's a disgusting pig of a pretender and a murderer, Zabini.' His voice dropped into the silence like a stone on its long way down an empty well. Seeing the looks of confusion all around, he added, still stony-faced, 'Such a memorable achievement: almost killing two little girls in the pursuit of his honourable duty...'

Harry felt Daphne stiffen next to him, but his eyes never left Zabini. 'Accidents happen,' replied his counterpart evenly.

'I'm sure they do,' Harry responded delicately. 'I'm just a student, I couldn't possibly presume to judge if an experienced Auror setting a mansion with three children inside on fire is a likely accident to happen.'

'You lie!' someone shouted from across the hall.

'Oh, do I?' Harry returned, still keeping his mask of indifference. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Snape descending from the head table after a few words with Dumbledore.

'Then, how about this?' said Harry, smirking. You played the cards you were dealt. Truth is little more than what the public believed in; the Pillars knew that well enough. _Please don't be angry with me, Lucretia._ 'Did Prewett ever tell you lot that he killed his own wife? Struck her down with his own wand, the great hero.'

Loud yelling and shouting washed over him, a lot of his fellow students were looking at him, angry, furious, and defensive. And yet, a few of them would end up nurturing their budding doubt – such was the nature of rumours and slander, after all. That the defamation in question even had some parts truth to it was a happy accident. 'I don't care what you believe. Ask him, if you have the courage,' he said to the hall at large, though his words were swallowed, not by silence like before, but by the tumult that spread like fire among the other houses. A few potatoes smashed into the table next to his hand.

'SILENCE' bellowed Snape, who had reached the front seats of the Slytherins by now. And he had a mean look to his eyes.

'Let's go,' said Harry out of the corner of his mouth. 'I don't think I'll be very popular here in a moment.'

Everyone looked at him as if he'd gone mad, except Leo, whose face revealed nothing in a diligent effort, and Amy, who grinned like mad at him – well, with a greater measure of madness than usual for a Lestrange.

Choices were what you made of them. You could flee from the rain, seeking shelter, or dance in the downpour. A fool either way, maybe, but Harry thought there and then that he'd rather be a fool who held his head up high.

~ _BLVoD~_

'Are you alright, Harry?' asked Hermione nervously.

'Of course, I am. But thank you for asking,' returned Harry, by all appearances supremely unconcerned with the brawl they'd just fled. A brawl he had brought about.

She could see Tracey and Greengrass exchanging uneasy glances. So it wasn't just her who was rather taken aback by Harry suddenly facing off half the school.

Well, there was one person who didn't seem to mind his course of action. 'Good on you!' said Amy cordially, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

Tracey looked annoyed, but when she was about to open her mouth, Harry held up his hand. 'What's done is done.'

Tracey scowled but refrained from saying what so obviously was on her mind. Harry didn't seem to care very much. It was as if he thought that Tracey had no right to be angry with him. Instead, he turned towards the blonde who'd been suspiciously silent for a while. 'I'm sorry,' he said softly.

'It's alright,' she said after a brief pause and with a brave little smile. 'Some of them knew anyway.'

Hermione felt the question rise in her throat, but she forcefully refrained from, in all likelihood, getting no answer. Angry snarls were probably still on the optimistic end of her expected outcomes, too. Instead, she silently resolved to weasel some information out of Tracey at a later date.

'But you can make it up to me if you're really sorry!' The words were shot at Harry like a bullet from a barrel.

'How?' asked Harry warily.

Greengrass, her previous sulkiness all but a distant memory, leant in and whispered something into Harry's ear, looking at him imploringly with what Hermione considered an almost disgracefully obvious attempt at puppy eyes.

'Alright.' Harry sighed, looking both relieved and helpless all at once. 'But only one.'

'Five!' said Greengrass, pouting.

'Two?' asked Harry hopefully, though it seemed to Hermione that he had already pretty much given up.

'Five!' Greengrass folded her arms.

Harry sighed. 'Alright, alright. Five it is.'

The blonde winked victoriously at Tracey, muttering something to her best friend before she dragged a rather resigned looking Harry off to goodness knew where.

'Well, there they go,' stated Leo to open the conversation.

'What are they doing?' asked Hermione, her eyes still following Harry and Greengrass.

'Dancing probably,' said Leo to her surprise. 'Daphne's always loved dancing.'

'And Harry?' Hermione couldn't help but ask.

'Well, he's a fairly proficient dancer by necessity,' stated Leo diplomatically.

'He hates it!' translated Tracey with a grin.

'Where's your sister, Leo?' asked Hermione when she looked back at their little group that had shrunk even more in the meanwhile.

'She stalked off when Harry left with Daphne.' Leo looked at his wrist, where a fairly mundane black watch with more than a dozen pointers seemed to – presumably – indicate the time or, equally possible, the star charts for the next few months. 'Come on, let's get to the library. We can still do a bit of research today.'

'We won't find anything anyway. Do I have to go?' quailed Tracey.

'Yes,' said Leo matter-of-factly. And that was that.

Two hours later, Hermione was, for the first time regarding this matter, inclined to agree with Tracey, who by now was soundly asleep, abhorrently abusing a literary treasure from the seventeenth century as a pillow.

'I think we're stuck,' said Hermione eventually. Leo looked up from his copy of _Terrifying Tales of Medieval Britain_ , rather surprised. 'I mean, I'm sure there's something in here, somewhere. But we have no clue where to begin looking!'

Leo put down the tome in his hands. It was remarkable how his obscenely neat hair didn't so much as tremble. 'Let's take a break,' he said primly, shutting his reading with care. 'I'll think about changing the angle. Also,' he sighed as he stood up, brushing some imaginary dust off his clothes, 'Tracey's snoring is getting on my nerves.'

 _~BLVoD~_

But the hoped-for inspiration just didn't happen. Days passed without discernible progress for their independent studies. Greengrass, for some mysterious reason, seemed to be having a good time; the girl was whistling merrily more often than not, thoroughly unconcerned with their lack of progress or the daily battle of words Harry had to endure. As for Harry, Hermione was surprised to realise that he seemed to fan the flames at times, slipping in some comment about the still-absent Prewett here and there, and the masses seemed ready to positively pounce on his words with the result that the school was abuzz with speculations and rumours like never before.

The overwhelming majority dismissed Harry's accusations on the basis of them being a Black's accusations, of course. Quite a few of their classmates had even voiced their intent to tell on Harry to Prewett as soon as their teacher returned to school. Harry had, for whatever mysterious reason, smiled serenely at that.

It was, therefore, with considerable disquietude that Hermione entered classroom 4F on the first floor of Hogwarts castle, two weeks later. Harry and Greengrass were absent, naturally, but Tracey and Draco both looked like two people who were about to enjoy watching a good film. Tracey had, as a matter of fact, brought a small bowl filled with popcorn.

'This is going to be good!' she said, wondrously managing to cram her mouth with popcorn and gloat at the same time.

'Is there something I should know?' asked Hermione.

'I expect there's a great deal you should know about,' answered Draco pompously, 'but for now, you should probably choose a seat in the back.'

Knowing that Draco loved his little games, she decided to comply quietly.

'It reeks, Draco!' complained a haughty voice from the side. 'Do we really have to sit here?' To her right, Hermione saw Parkinson and Zabini hover next to Draco, the former glaring at Hermione. 'I won't get the smell out of my clothes!'

'Pipe down and take a seat already,' said Draco with a lazy shrug. 'I'm sure you'll be able to survive one lesson.'

Parkinson grumbled, but eventually sat down as far away from Hermione as possible, with Zabini, Draco, and Tracey between them.

It was incredibly awkward to sit there with Parkinson, who wrinkled her nose in disgust, Zabini, who didn't utter a single word in an award-winning impersonation of a statue, Draco, who kept yawning and stretching, apparently oblivious to the tension, and Tracey, who was, or so it seemed, trying to cope with the pressure by increasing the rate in which she shovelled hands full of popcorn into her mouth. Hermione couldn't help wondering where she'd gotten it.

Mercifully, the door banged open only a few moments later. Professor Prewett swaggered in, wearing a long and heavy coat not unlike the one Antonius had worn, his left arm in a sling with the dark leather fluttering loosely on his shoulder. He looked a bit like a veteran returning from battle. Or maybe, Hermione thought, somewhat surprised by her own leeriness, he wanted to look like a returning veteran.

'Good to see you, everyone!' he greeted them with a wide smile.

'Are you alright, Professor?' asked Patil from Ravenclaw. 'Are you sure you're up for teaching?'

'Oh, think nothing of it! This little scratch won't hold me back.' He barked a laugh before he sat down on the desk, taking out the class register. Then, he seemed to think better of it. 'Everyone here? Except for the usual suspects, of course. Excellent!' With another grin, he tossed the register. 'This is too fine a day for paperwork! So? Anything interesting happening in the meanwhile? I've only just escaped Poppy's clutches. You'd think being released from St. Mungo's would be good enough, but there you go.'

'Sir! Sir!' someone shouted from the row in front of them. 'Black's been gossiping about you. He's been spreading it all over the castle.'

'Really?' Prewett looked more surprised than angry. 'Let's have it, then!'

All at once, the whole class was turned into people who were very busy with their parchment or staring, fixated at something between their hands. Not a single sound except for the emphasized rustling of parchment echoed through the room.

'That bad, ey?' Their professor chuckled uneasily. 'Come on! I promise I shan't bite.'

To Hermione's disbelief, Draco shifted in his seat. He must have made eye contact with Professor Prewett because he immediately got called out.

'How about you, Malfoy? You're not so easily shaken, are you?'

'N-no, Professor,' responded Draco with a trace of bravery.

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Ridiculous!_

'Then how about you tell me what nasty lies Black has told you?'

'I want no trouble, sir. I'm just keeping my head down.' Next to Hermione, Tracey choked on her popcorn. Hermione absentmindedly slapped her on the back a few times.

'Don't worry about it. It's very courageous of you to speak out against a fellow housemate. So?'

'Alright, sir,' said Draco, eager and helpful like a poisoner who handed an unsuspecting victim a shiny red apple. 'Well, Black's claiming that you've set fire to a house full of children.'

Collectively, the whole class looked up, apparently having gotten over their spontaneous fascination with parchment and quills. Prewett had gone rigid.

'Professor?' asked Draco with a sickly fake voice of concern.

As it turned out, however, Draco wasn't the one to hammer in the last nail. 'But of course, that's an outrageous accusation, isn't it, sir?' Lightflight cried out. She was one of those who, while nearly as objectively uninformed as Hermione, were nevertheless completely convinced to know everything of relevance. She was, in short, one of those who had grouped up to row with Harry every other day.

Prewett turned to look at her. The man looked wretched.

'Sir?' the girl repeated, losing a bit of momentum.

'That was years and years ago, Miss Lightflight. I can assure you that-'

'It's been barely ten years, hasn't it?' asked Hermione, her voice easily drowning out Prewett's feeble attempt to regain control. Everything was falling into place. Maybe Harry had planned for this, too, but righteous indignation carried her onwards. 'Oh my god! You nearly killed her! You killed her father, beat her mother bloody, and nearly burned both her and her little sister alive! It's no wonder she refuses to attend your lesson.' All the eyes were upon her, but Hermione didn't much care. 'You're a monster!'

The class exploded with a roar. Everyone was shouting, either at Prewett or a fellow classmate, people were standing up left and right, and – worst of all – Peeves the Poltergeist, who had apparently sneaked in through the walls, was floating over their heads, vigorously throwing chalk at their teacher with continuous shouts of 'Monster!'.

'SILENCE!' A stunning bang of sound and light finally quieted the class. Prewett was standing in the centre of it all, his wand held high, his face sweaty and red with anger. 'Silence! Miss Granger, I'm afraid you're sadly misinformed. We've investigated the incident in question very carefully,' said Prewett in an unfamiliar tone and voice, breathing heavily. This wasn't their teacher, the adventurous Professor Prewett, but rather the grizzled ex-Head Auror who was accustomed to speaking with reporters. 'But no evidence whatsoever has ever turned up that the fire was either intentional or even necessarily the result of actions of Aurors present at the time.'

'What, you mean the family inside set the fire?' asked Hermione, aghast.

'That is not for me to say. I can only say that no evidence supporting either theory has ever turned up.'

'Or been made public,' snarled Tracey from the side, her hand still outstretched from when she'd thrown a handful of popcorn at the front.

Prewett glared at her but didn't otherwise acknowledge her allegation. 'The incident in question is also subject to the laws of non-disclosure, so you really shouldn't-'

'So it's not true, then, that your squad beat up an unarmed woman who came running from the burning mansion to plead for a ceasefire, precisely because children were still inside?' asked Draco innocently.

'That's neither here nor there, Mr Malfoy. And there are such things as concealed weapons. Listen up, everyone! In times of strife and war-'

'War?' shouted Tracey, outraged. 'What war?!'

'-it's the right and responsibility of every government to ensure that the public order is being upheld. At times, difficult decisions have to be made. At times, the outcome isn't at all what everyone would have wished for. But it's every citizen's duty to be of service to the community – because that community is our one great treasure! If someone, anyone, threatens everything we all stand and work for, we cannot just sit back and take it all. No, for the greater good, we have to fight back...'

 _He's going to get away with it,_ thought Hermione with a pang of panic. _He may not exactly be a born orator, but most of the Ravenclaws at least_ want _to believe him, want everything he says to be true so very hard that they'll give him the benefit of the doubt!_

'Professor?' It wasn't immediately obvious, but Tracey had stood up, smiling at their teacher with an expression Hermione had never witnessed before. It was oddly out of place on the petite witch, who was usually so happy-go-lucky. It was leering, arrogant and had a sharp, cold edge to it that was more likely to cut than any more mundane weapon. It would have been much better at home on Harry's or even Greengrass' face.

Prewett's brow wrinkled in confusion, somewhat derailed in his speech. It was unlikely he would offer Tracey the platform to refute him, but his momentary silence was all the opening she needed. 'Black also said that you killed your own wife. Is that also an incident that's subject to the law of non-disclosure?'

Hermione watched in fascinated horror as Prewett's previously slightly receding flush returned with more force than ever. 'HE WHAT?!' the man brayed, his eyes wide, waving his wand about. 'He what?! How dare he?! HOW DARE HE?!' With all his might, the man kicked at the desk he'd previously sat on, sending it crashing into the wall.

A few students in the front rows screamed.

'P-professor, are you alright, sir?' asked Lightflight cautiously.

'OUT! Everyone out! Class is over. Out, OUT!' Prewett screamed, spittle flying across the room.

The throng made for the exit as fast as possible, dodging flying splinters and jinxes both as Prewett raged against the furniture.

The Slytherins got out last, making it a (in Hermione's opinion absolutely unnecessary) point that they wouldn't run even if their teacher was having a nervous breakdown.

When Hermione looked back over her shoulder one last time, Prewett had sunk to the floor, his shaking head in both hands. He was sobbing.

'That was brilliant, Draco,' gushed Parkinson. 'Much better than the usual lessons.'

Draco laughed and so did Zabini, Shafiq, and some of the others, but Hermione didn't feel like laughing; she felt disgusted. Tracey, who didn't seem to be in the mood to smile as well, grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her away from the scene.

'Let's go,' the girl said grimly – exactly like a witch who'd done something unpleasant for the greater good.

 _~BLVoD~_

Even a fortnight later, the school was bursting with the story of Prewett's, well, outburst. Those Ravenclaws that were present at the time were soon elevated to the status of very local celebrities, urged to share their story just this one last time. Professor Prewett had been absent for a few days, and Harry was, as a result of him refusing to attend a meeting between him, Prewett, Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore, spending his evenings in detention with Professor Rose. That, too, was a bit fishy, Hermione thought, not for the first time.

Hermione had fled the general hustle and bustle by retreating to the library, predictably so, as Tracey had said. Leo would help her every other day, but by now the both of them were the only ones who still believed in the library. Tracey did join them (from time to time) but more for company's sake than anything else. Greengrass, on the contrary, was a barely contained nuclear fusion at this point. Thankfully, all Slytherins had the sense to not bother her with the talk and gossip about her past or Prewett, but it was all too clear that the ongoing tension was only fuelling her wrath. Harry's – and to a lesser degree Tracey's – presence was the only countermeasures they could deploy to avert disaster. To their relief, Harry was willing to spend more time than usual in Daphne's company, joining them in the library whenever he wasn't busy with detentions or his suspiciously private lessons with Professor Rose.

Hermione scowled. Something about Professor Rose rubbed her the wrong way.

With care, Hermione turned another page of the newspaper archive. She had initially been searching for clues regarding Prewett or the foreign Auror, but currently, she was shamefully engrossed in research of another nature.

 _Bloody night raid on Potter mansion!_

Young heir taken captive by Dark Wizards unknown!  
Auror Office claims "no indication of involvement of Grindelwald supporters this time"!

Hermione's eyes were glued to the page and specifically the last words: 'this time,' they had printed. Were those remaining Grindelwald fanatics maybe the top suspects regarding the original raid that had killed Harry's parents?

The picture showed the familiar sight of the ruins of Potter Mansion, except that the whole property looked incredibly well-maintained. The lawn, in particular, gave off the impression that someone had combed it and cut each individual blade with stupendous care and dedication. And yet, the house in the back was the same ruin she'd come to know. The moving picture also showed ominous black fire that still consumed patches of grass or the fence.

Her lantern hissed a few times in the cold air of the library, and she turned the page.

 _Blacks suspected of abducting Potter heir!  
Ministry seeks warrant to conduct thorough search of family's notoriously extensive holdings._

This time, the front page showed a picture of a grizzly scowling Rendall Prewett as he entered through the heavy doors that must, Hermione guessed, lead to the chambers of the Wizengamot. The rest of the front page seemed to be strangely concerned with pointing out every bit of evidence and talk that hinted at the Blacks' dark past.

She turned a lot of pages – hundreds – until she found another headline with what she was looking for.

 _Surprise raid on Black estates!_

 _Sirius Black sentenced to indefinite incarceration on Azkaban Island!  
Regulus Black dies resisting arrest!_

Hermione gulped, flattening the paper. Her heart hammering, she decided to read a bit further this time around.

 _In a bold surprise move late last night, the Auror Office under Head Auror Rendall Prewett circumvented the Wizengamot by invoking Grindelwald legislation technically still in effect. Ignoring the enraged outcry of the Wizengamot, Auror Prewett publicly justified this legal measure as "necessary to move past the stalemate in the Wizengamot that is the direct consequence of the suspects hindering the ongoing investigation"._

 _The raid occurred even before the Wizengamot was formally apprised of the situation..._

Hermione nervously eyed the newspaper in her hands. This wasn't proper, was it? Absurdly, it felt a bit like, well, spying, despite the fact that it was a matter of public record.

Biting her lip, she scanned the following paragraphs that discussed at length the apparent impotence of the Wizengamot. Strangely, the reporter came to the conclusion that the Auror Office effectively overruling the Wizengamot, its formal employer and controlling institution, was a welcome if headstrong move.

 _Among the regrettable casualties of the night is also Mrs Ophala Black née Greengrass, who is currently being treated by emergency healers at St. Mungo's. Her two daughters fled the scuffle and are currently unaccounted for._

'Scuffle,' Hermione read out, disbelieving. The shadow of her silhouette danced across the bookshelves in the rhythm of the unsteady light.

Her thoughts hazy, she turned the page a few times, staring wordlessly at the pictures of men that had made history and those who had gotten under its heel. The last page of the month featured an extremely thin older woman with flaming red hair.

 _Greengrass family to renounce all ties with the Blacks._

Then, one of the shadows on the wall took a step forward.

'I admire your dedication, Hermione,' said Leo, clad in strange dark blue and green robes that blended with the background.

Hermione gave a frightened start, her flailing arms pushing the lantern off the table.

Leo's hand blurred with practised and intimidating efficiency, catching the light before it was more than a few inches on its way towards the cold stone floor.

Hastily, Hermione rearranged the newspapers in front of her. 'You scared me, Leo! Why did you sneak up on me?!'

'I did not,' the boy returned calmly, putting the lantern back on the reading table. 'You must have been absorbed by your reading.' Casually, he glanced at the old issues of the Daily Prophet that lay on top.

'Oh, er, yes. I've been doing a bit of reading. Look what I've found!' Hermione indicated the issue of the Prophet that had initially started her reading frenzy. It was an article about thirty years old.

 _ICW announces its intent to root out all remaining pockets of supporters of the Dark Lord._

 _Head Auror of Joint Forces to be heading hunt for Dark Witches and Wizards all across Europe._

The picture underneath showed the very same auburn-haired, hulking giant of a man they'd come to know as Antonius. 'He's a war hero, apparently! A big opponent of, you know, Grindelwald.'

'Interesting,' said Leo, scratching his chin thoughtfully. 'But that's not the only thing that's been keeping you busy, is it?' he asked mildly.

'Er-'

Hermione looked on dejectedly as Leo uncovered the issues of the Prophet she'd clumsily hidden under the first one.

Leo stared at the figure of Madame Greengrass. Then, he sighed, sitting down opposite Hermione.

'Hermione,' he began slowly.

'Yes?' she asked guiltily and in a very small voice.

'First of all, let me tell you that you're being extremely foolish. As far as I know, Harry has told you a substantial amount of his personal history, hasn't he?'

Hermione nodded, nervously biting her lip again. The head of Draco swam through her mind, berating her to drop the habit already.

'And haven't you recently started to become somewhat friendly with Daphne?'

'Well, I guess so. What goes for friendly with Greengrass, at least.'

'Then, don't you think it's extremely rude to dig into their personal history without even giving them the chance to tell you on their own?'

'I-' Hermione stammered feebly, ducking her head in shame. 'I guess so.'

'Why didn't you ask?' Leo asked, staring at her expression. His own face still betrayed none of his thoughts.

'I-' Hermione looked up, confused again.

'Be honest. You're not good enough to bluff me, anyway,' remarked Leo nonchalantly.

'I just wanted to know,' said Hermione with an apologetic smile. 'And Greengrass can get a bit, well, mad at times. And Harry isn't exactly...forthcoming.'

'Have you ever wondered about Daphne's reaction should she come to realise that you've been stirring up her past?' Leo's grey eyes still hammered into her, as ferocious as his voice was calm. It was eerie.

'I didn't mean any harm,' she gushed. 'I just-'

'Wanted to know,' Leo concluded impassively. 'Yes, I gathered as much. Listen up, Hermione. Never, ever do that again, do you understand me?'

His voice didn't waver, it didn't carry any hint of threat or possible repercussions. It simply, irrevocably stated that it was in Hermione's absolutely best interest to follow his advice.

She nodded.

'Good, then I'll do my best to calm my sister, and I'll even talk to Harry, because you can be sure that Amy will.'

'Amy?' asked Hermione, feeling the situation slowly spiralling out of control. 'What's she got to do with this?'

'Remember I told you I didn't sneak up on you?' Leo pointed at something behind Hermione.

Hermione turned around – and gasped. Not one yard behind her stood Amy Lestrange, wand loosely at her side, glowering at Hermione as if she'd seen a bug in her prize vegetables. With a sneer, the girl whirled around and vanished between the shelves.

'I didn't need to because I knew where you were. You should be grateful I found Amy on her way to Harry.'

Hermione nodded, feeling wan. She hadn't at any point in time realised that Amadina Lestrange had stood within arm's reach behind her. She wondered how long the girl had stood there, patiently watching her dig into Harry's and Daphne's past with that cold look in her eyes. Hermione shivered.

'Hermione?' said Leo again, after a short pause.

'Yes?'

'Harry isn't very forgiving when it comes to anything that loosely resembles a betrayal of trust.'

'I swear, I didn't-'

'And neither are we,' continued Leo smoothly, his eyes still focused entirely on Hermione's.

Hermione looked back at those grey eyes of Leo's. Even though the usually almost taciturn and extremely polite boy in front of her had, in his demeanour, almost no resemblance to his older sister, she couldn't help noticing that the uncaring, adamantine rigidness was just as cold as Amadina's fury.

By now, Hermione was biting her lip so hard she could taste a faint trace of blood. She nodded, again, like a child that had stolen a cookie from the jar that was supposed to be out of reach.

'Good, then let's speak no more of this,' said Leo, to her surprise. 'In any case, I've found something yesterday evening, too, and I'd value your opinion.'

Hermione sank, if possible, even further into her seat, shame rising from her like smoke.

'Have a look.' Leo produced an ancient book she'd seen him read through twice now: _Terrifying Tales of Medieval Britain_. Intrigued, Hermione opened the page the fancy red bookmark flagged.

 _'Long Nights, by Ian B. Longbottom._

 _One of the most famously prominent but_ – _sadly_ – _least researched tales of medieval Britain every budding student of magical history is sure to stumble upon during the course of their studies is the tale of the Long Nights of Caerphilly._

 _During the early 14th century, the, at the time, small settlement was repeatedly haunted, with contemporaries claiming to have been attacked by "intangible spectres", "ghost", and other apparitions that "descended upon the good citizens with unholy fervour with the waning light"._

 _The neighbouring wizarding clans regarded these happenings with little more than contempt, as local populations had always been eager to blame their misfortunes (the land was in the throes of a serious famine and still contested) on magical maladies. However, one huntsman whose name was sadly lost in time, found himself, completely by chance, as the sole witness of the alleged events of Caerphilly._

 _Regrettably, the huntsman, too, fell ill, and his mind wasted away in what we can only presume to be the psychological shock from what he had witnessed. He only managed to convey the general location of the alleged massacre he had witnessed before passing away, but when the family (that tragically also didn't live to see the end of the century) later sent out a whole hunting party, nothing was found except the ominously mutilated remains of several peasant families._

 _The haunting of the area continued for well over a month before suddenly ceasing all at once, further biasing the local populace against magic. Several poems, tales, and legends of nightly attacks by ghastly apparitions in South Wales are said to trace their roots to the events of Caerphilly._

 _For reference, see_ The Normans and the Welsh _, by Ifan Llugwy;_ Fancy Fantasies of Olden Times _, by Rosemarie Lepub; and_ Historiography of Magical Poetry and its Origins _, by Sir Evan Readgood.'_

Hermione looked up, the sorry episode from earlier almost dispelled from her mind. 'But this is it!' she exclaimed excitedly. 'This really does feel like our best lead so far. Good job, Leo!'

'Thank you,' the younger Lestrange returned with a little bob of his head. 'Then, our next step should probably be-'

'To look for references speculating about the creature that attacked Caerphilly! Of course, let's get started right now!'

'Wouldn't it be more efficient to wait for the others?' asked Leo with a hint of a smile.

'No, no, no,' muttered Hermione, already enthusiastically dragging ancient tomes from the shelves. 'Tracey's hit the end of her patience, and Greengrass is either too distracted by Harry, or distracted by her thoughts of Harry. And Harry's spending too much time with Professor Rose recently.'

'You, too, seem fairly antagonistic towards his association with Professor Rose,' observed Leo calmly.

'Well, it's just... Nevermind! Let's get started already!'

 _~BLVoD~_

But quite as easily as it had suddenly seemed, it didn't turn out to be. Arduously, Hermione and Leo pored over sundry tomes in painfully dull lucubration for days and days. Tracey joined them every once in a while, as did Daphne, presumably because Harry was so busy with his private studies (to the great chagrin of all the girls present). Amy had, after Hermione's bout of unduly curiosity, avoided her, offering nothing more than perfunctory greetings at meals and suspicious glares at other times. Harry had said to give it time.

'She's not one to trust easily, and, I feel obliged to say, she's somewhat predisposed against you due to your...heritage. Just keep out of her way, and she'll come around.' After a bit of thinking, he'd added, 'probably.'

Luckily, the whole thing hadn't been too big of a deal for Harry, who, for whatever strange pure-blood reason, seemed more disappointed that she'd gotten caught so easily rather than her actually prying into his private history.

In any case, November had come and gone in no time, and the heavy snow of December was, once again, having its impact on the students' life at Hogwarts. Mostly, this became apparent in the way everyone dressed and avoided the lower parts of the castle early at day and late at night. All outdoor activities were still prohibited, after all.

A few more Aurors, both foreign and domestic, seemed to be patrolling the corridors and standing guard next to the entrances, but everything felt quite normal otherwise. Hermione felt a bit nervous about the thought of some ghoulish ghost lurking in the forest, just within reach. That the Aurors had failed to drive it away didn't help either.

But the strangest thing, at least to her, was that nobody seemed to care very much that some deadly creature was, for all they knew, just hovering outside the castle. For most of the students, life just went on. True, the failed expedition into the forest by the Aurors hadn't been made public – but still...

Harry had told her that normalcy is what you make of it. For these people, the threat of danger was something they were well accustomed to, after all. Brewing, flying, tinkering with spells – these things were all relatively normal and could go horribly wrong.

With a sigh, Hermione watched a few Hufflepuffs who lingered at the entrance of the library, whispering and sniggering in a way that made her quite certain she knew who they were talking about. True enough, Harry and Leo could be seen from way back, bending over a few tomes she could identify from a distance as vaguely related to magical creatures.

'Hello,' she said, taking a seat and grabbing one of the books at random. 'Found anything?'

'Not precisely,' said Harry, leaning back. 'I can't help thinking that I'm overlooking something, but I just can't imagine what...'

'Maybe you're overthinking this.' Leo carefully shut his book and looked up at Harry. 'I think it's time to change the angle again.'

'Alright? Ask away!'

'I've been wondering. What did the wounds on Prewett and his glorious company look like?' Leo asked in a low voice.

'Well, brutal, to be honest. Cuts, gashes – it looked as if the flesh had been torn off them at times.'

Hermione grimaced, feeling sick. Still, this was part of the job, she guessed. 'So no claw marks or bite wounds? Just...random flesh wounds? That doesn't sound like an animal.'

'I wouldn't go so far,' retorted Leo calmly. 'Wounds can look funny after a while. Also, we don't know if the foreign Auror didn't apply first-aid already, which might have warped the shape of the wounds.'

'He must have,' Harry agreed immediately. 'Some of them wouldn't have lived otherwise.'

'Good point.' Hermione sighed. 'Anything else, Harry?'

'Not exactly. The men obviously feared for their lives, but I figured that would be self-explanatory given the state they were in.' He leant back, tilting the chair. 'Wait, one of them had a strange wound, a puncture mark on his neck.'

'Interesting. Maybe that has something to do with the lack of blood in the Acromantulas?'

'Maybe it was a vampire after all?' asked Hermione, nervously playing with a strand of her bushy hair.

'I don't think so,' replied Leo calmly.

'Good!' Hermione couldn't quite suppress the smile after hearing his reassurance.

'I think we're dealing with something a lot more troublesome here.'

'Oh...'

'Well, good luck, Leo. I know you'll eventually get it. You couldn't ask for a more enthusiastic helper, too.' Harry stood up, gathering his books.

'Are you leaving already?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, I've got another appointment with Aenor.'

'That's your fifth lesson with her this week alone,' stated Hermione, carefully watching his expression.

But he just shrugged. 'I guess so.'

'Is she teaching you spells or...?'

'Couldn't say,' he returned with a small smile.

'Because you physically can't or because you don't want to?'

Harry, who had been on the verge of leaving, turned around, showing them a playful grin. 'Oh, I definitely don't want to. It would, as a matter of fact, end very badly for me if I wanted to. So long!'

'What's that supposed to mean?' mumbled Hermione, eyeing his retreating form.

'It's best not to ask, I think. This research doesn't really play to his strengths, anyway.'

'What's that supposed to mean? He knows this library as well as anyone!'

'Yes, but Harry's not particularly interested in the topic.' Seeing her expression, he waved a hand. 'Don't get me wrong, he wants to get to the bottom of this, but he's not the typical, hm, outdoor person, you know.'

'Neither am I,' replied Hermione, amused.

'No, but you're the most dedicated of all of us when it comes to your studies. Harry is, in his bookwormy way, rather practical. I believe he views spells not as subjects to study but as tools to gather. It's not the same as your approach. And, happily,' Leo again opened the book in front of him, 'I just so happen to be interested in the subject.'

'Can I be honest with you?' asked Hermione after a second of hesitation, her eyes wandering over the extremely neat hair, the astonishingly orderly robes, and Leo's shining shoes that were barely visible under the table.

'Not feeling very Slytherin right now?' Leo inquired neutrally, but his eyebrows rose for a fraction of a centimetre, which Hermione interpreted as a silent 'go on'.

'No, well, I just would never have figured you'd be an outdoor kind of person,' she said with an embarrassed sort of smile.

Leo nodded, returning his attention to the book at hand. 'Hardly the first time I've heard that one. Looks can be deceiving, Hermione.'

Hermione nodded, taking the book in front of her and opening it at the glossary. The candle in the lantern hissing and spitting in the cold air was the only sound around, except for the occasional muffled steps of other readers.

'In fact, considering you've been trying to rein in your bubbling curiosity, I'll be giving you some free advice,' said Leo suddenly and quite unexpected, as if it was normal to carry on with a conversation that had been paused for fifteen minutes.

'Er, yes?' Hermione asked, looking up.

'You'd do well to assume most people in Slytherin have two faces. You might be the only notable exception in fact.'

There was something in the way Leo pronounced the last sentence that made Hermione sit up straight. 'Do you mean to say that's something I need to change?'

Leo sighed, putting the book back down. 'Ask yourself a simple question, Hermione. Could you ever, with absolute certainty, tell what Harry might be thinking? Or Tracey, for example? At any given time?'

Hermione wanted to say 'yes' but she couldn't. Harry, yes, Harry always gave off the impression that some part of him was watching out from behind his eyes, observing, thinking, disconnected from the way he acted. But Tracey? Then again, that cold look back with Professor Prewett had been rather unsettling.

'I guess not,' she conceded.

'No guessing necessary. You simply can't, believe me. Even Daphne, as, well, simple as she may appear occasionally, is a lot more complicated than you might be prepared to give her credit for. The first step,' he raised both forefingers close by, 'is to practise the separation of thought and emotion.' The fingers shot apart.

'Is this some sort of magic, too?' she asked curiously. 'It sounds more like a mental thing.'

'Both,' answered Leo succinctly. 'But it's not easy. If you're up for a challenge, try it out. You can laugh, you can grin, you can cry, but at any given time always have the clarity to be aware of what you're doing. You need to be in control of yourself. That doesn't mean that you can't allow your emotions to show; it simply means you need to be their master.'

'So, you mean it's okay to cry as long as I can, at any given time, stop crying if I want to?' she asked, bewildered.

'Precisely.' Apparently satisfied, he returned to his lecture.

But Hermione wasn't satisfied yet. 'Is that something every pure-blood learns?'

'Oh, yes. It comes with having lots of relations. If you can't smile well-behaved at your disgusting great-aunt while thinking "I hope you come down with Vanishing Sickness," you're in a lot of trouble.'

Hermione stared straight ahead. Then, she started to laugh. 'You just made a joke!' she said disbelievingly.

But Leo just shrugged. Hermione, after calming herself, once again stared at the younger Lestrange in front of her. Had this been his way of making a point? Was she overthinking this?

But once again, Leo disrupted her thoughts. 'I think we have a problem.'

'What do you mean?' she immediately shot back, now all serious.

Leo held up his book. It was an old copy of _Baffling Beasts of Legends_.

'I've seen that one, but what's the problem with it?'

'The problem is that it doesn't contain any lemma starting with L.'

'Well, maybe there isn't such a thing? I'm sure it probably doesn't contain anything starting with Y or X, either.'

'As a matter of fact, it does. I wouldn't have given it a second glance, but I rather think the entries under L are missing in most of the books.'

Startled, Hermione grabbed a few books on the tables. Leo had been right, she realised with a jolt; Most of the books did lack entries under L, and those had some more often than not featured Leprechauns – not the most deadly of creatures.

'What other beast could you think of that's missing?' Hermione asked.

'Limax for one. But I doubt a slug, no matter how intelligent, could do that to a party of Aurors.'

'No, probably not.' Hermione sighed. 'This is all so complicated. We wouldn't be having this problem in the Muggle world!'

'Oh, why not?' asked Leo, his interest drawn.

'Well, the most general type of information is free and not locked away. I don't think it'd be possible to track down every bestiary to change its contents!'

'What would you do if there was some subject that was restricted, but you desperately needed it anyway?'

'Well, I suppose if you really needed it for a good reason, money can buy you anything,' she said, disheartened.

'You know, Hermione,' said Leo with a minuscule smile, as he softly shut the book close, 'I think I've just had an idea.'

'And that would be?' she asked, taken aback.

'We just need to speak with one of the richest wizards in Britain and let the money do the talking.'

'And how would we ever get in touch with someone like that?' she asked sceptically.

'Well, as long as Draco is hiding from me, I suppose we should appeal to Harry.'

'Of course,' responded Hermione slack-jawed. 'Why does that not surprise me? But will he just give us the money?'

'Don't worry,' was all Leo said, still smiling as if he knew something Hermione didn't, which he probably did.

 _~BLVoD~_

'...so in short, we need about five thousand Galleons from you to order the book from abroad.'

Hermione felt her tongue go dry. Had Leo really just asked Harry for five thousand Galleons – just like that and completely out of the blue? _My parents could buy a brand-new car with that – and a good one!_ Strangely, no one seemed to react very much to Leo's incredibly audacious demand. Greengrass was still leaning against Harry in a suspiciously casual sort of way, engrossed in some silly chit-chat with Tracey.

Equally incomprehensible, Harry didn't look annoyed or even amused. No, he simply shrugged, not even looking up from his reading. 'Sure, but I get to keep the book.'

Hermione's jaw dropped. 'Er, Harry, are you sure you shouldn't think about it a bit longer?'

Harry looked up, his brow wrinkled in honest confusion. 'Why?'

'I, er – oh, nevermind!' Hermione gave up, taking a breath and sitting down.

'You haven't been at Harry's yet, have you, Honey?' Tracey threw in from the side.

'No, I haven't,' Hermione answered, feeling faint.

'Well, let's just say it's no surprise our good Harry here thought food, clothing, and books were just conjured up until he was twelve,' she quipped with a snigger.

Harry flicked his tongue, a shade embarrassed. 'How was I to know?! The topic just never came up.'

Daphne giggled, patting Harry's head in a calming and rather patronising fashion, but Hermione couldn't help joining in with Tracey's laughter when she saw Harry's disgruntled expression.

'Anyway,' said Harry after a while, 'Grandfather's holding another ball this year. You lot are obviously invited if you want to come.'

'I'll come!' said Greengrass, once more defying common physics with the speed of her answer.

'Guess I'll come, too!' said Tracey, still sniggering.

'I think I'll pass,' said Leo with a courteous bow.

'Wish I could pass,' mumbled Harry, ignoring Daphne's punishing elbow.

Hermione was quite startled to realise Tracey was staring at her as if demanding something. 'Er, yes, Tracey?'

'What about you? Wanna come?'

'I'm invited, too?' asked Hermione, her gaze wandering between Tracey and Harry.

Harry nodded. 'It's your decision, of course.'

'Should I?' Hermione looked around nervously. All of them, with the exception of Harry, were looking at her wearing complicated expressions.

'I think you shouldn't,' volunteered Greengrass after a few seconds of exchanged glances.

'Why not?' she asked in a raspy voice, her heart falling a bit.

'Because, Granger, the Black Ball is pretty much _the_ social event of the year. The occasion is very formal and attended by all the respectable families of Britain, and a few foreign ones to boot. It might be amusing to watch you embarrass yourself once in a while, but you might want to rethink doing so in front of the most important people of this country on an occasion where gossip is the weapon of choice.'

Unsure, Hermione looked at Harry for confirmation. 'Is that true?'

'It's true,' he said, not looking up. 'Last year, one of the Yaxley's was a bit generous with his drinks and his tongue got a bit too loose. He's since lost his lodging, job, and his wife is considering a divorce.'

'That's appalling!' said a thoroughly shocked Hermione.

'That's society,' Harry corrected her, slowly turning the page. 'During these seemingly quiet and friendly gatherings, more political deals and business contracts are forged than during half the year before.'

'I don't think I'm ready for that,' admitted Hermione weakly.

'Probably for the best,' said Tracey with an apologetic grin. 'That kind of gossip can really stick around. Poor No-Hose Jugson.'

'No-Hose Jugson?' repeated Hermione slowly.

'Oh, allegedly, years and years ago, Mr Jugson had a few too many Firewhiskeys and, probably by accident, went into the Ladies with his trousers already half-way open, and when the girls saw-'

'Tracey!' snapped Greengrass, hitting her best friend on the shoulder. 'Stop being so crass!'

But Tracey just sniggered, ignoring her best friend's outraged scolding and Hermione's blush. 'Suffice it to say, the name's still around even though the man's over sixty now.'

'That's really mean!' said Hermione, hiding her mouth with one hand.

'It has to be even more awkward for his children and wife, I wager,' said Harry drily, turning another page.

Tracey burst out laughing, and no amount of playful slaps could calm her down for the rest of the evening.

 _~BLVoD~_

December trudged on with all the best of November: scary weather, which had now turned into snowstorms under a lightning-lit sky, detentions for Harry, Harry's private lessons with Professor Rose, and the ever-turning rumour mill of Hogwarts. Professor Prewett had come back to teaching, despite the ongoing interest in his past, but now resorted to immediate detentions whenever someone started asking questions about his wife. They were also still spending a lot of time in the library, but Leo and Hermione were by now the only regulars willing to keep up their research. Tracey and – surprisingly enough – Harry had said that going on like before, hoping for sheer luck, would be a waste of time. Instead, they were putting their trust in the book Leo had, to Hermione's unpleasant surprise, quite illegally ordered from Hungary.

'You wouldn't believe what turns up on the market once in a while,' Leo had said, in Hermione's opinion totally glossing over the fact of what _kinds_ of markets he was talking about. 'Regions with political instability are always best for acquisition. Some soldier grabs a book here, nicks some jewellery there; even after so many years since the great wars of the Muggles, there's still lots of interesting things to be bought. And I'm not even talking about the war with the Dark Lord...'

'So you, er, used Harry's five thousand Galleons to buy contraband?' she had whispered, looking over her shoulder.

Leo had only nodded, furthering her dismay. 'A good investment.'

Hermione had let the topic rest at that point, unwilling to find out just how Leo knew about Hungarian black markets selling spoils of war.

It was, therefore, to Hermione's great surprise and welcome distraction that Harry unexpectedly turned up during one of her tight-lipped sessions with Leo – Daphne and Tracey in tow.

'Still busy?' he asked with a smile.

'Still wasting time,' chuntered Tracey.

'We have, as a matter of fact, achieved a bit of progress,' said Leo modestly.

'Oh? Shoot!' said Daphne, taking a seat.

'We have compared the bestiaries and encyclopaediae in question,' said Hermione excitedly, noting Tracey's bamboozled look at the word encyclopaediae, 'and it seems that only books covering dangerous foreign magical creatures seem to have been altered.'

'Meaning we never had a chance when we chose to look for British creatures,' said Harry with a nod.

'But this is only proof that Draco's right! Some giant foreign super monster is lurking in the forest!' complained Tracey loudly, oblivious to their surroundings.

'How does it matter if it's foreign?' asked Harry, amused. 'Does it get scarier just because it doesn't know how to enjoy a well-brewed tea?'

'What? I-'

Hermione and Daphne snickered at Tracey's expression.

'Harry Black?'

Hermione turned around, but to her relief found no Basil Fawcett staring avidly at Harry. This time, it was the blonde with the overly large eyes she'd pointed out during the Sorting Ceremony.

Harry stood up, eyeing the newcomer without giving anything away. 'Miss Lovegood? What can I do for you?'

'Oh, I just wanted to let you know that your allegations against Professor Prewett have piqued my father's interest. You know, he's the editor of the Quibbler. I thought you might be interested in this.'

Completely disregarding the five pairs of eyes watching her closely, she hopped towards Harry, holding out a brown parcel.

'Thank you,' said Harry without any indication that he was going to open it.

'You're welcome.' The first year hinted at a smile. 'But don't thank me yet! My father's now looking into your family's legion of Blue Jellygolems. You know – to balance things out!'

With that extraordinary statement, she bobbed her head and, skipping and hopping, left the library again.

'What's a Blue Jellygolem?' asked Hermione into the ensuing silence.

'I have no idea whatsoever,' answered Harry.

'Lovegood is a bit queer,' said Leo, inspecting the parcel in Harry's hand, 'but she's otherwise harmless enough.'

'She was the loony who danced in the rain when we made for Hogwarts, wasn't she?' asked Daphne.

'That's her, the rain dancer,' said Harry, smiling mysteriously. He pointed his wand at the package and produced a few muttered spells Hermione wasn't familiar with. After a while, he nodded and unwrapped the package with a flipping motion of his wand.

It was the current edition of the magazine known as the Quibbler, and the front page read:

 _Heroic or heinous: Rendall Prewett's past revealed!_

The picture showed Professor Prewett, shiftily fumbling with a lock, shooting furtive glances over his shoulder. Incidentally, Hermione recognised the door to be the one leading to the office of the History of Magic teacher.

'This is brilliant,' shouted Daphne, laughing. 'I take everything back; Lovegood is alright!'

'Sadly, the article in question falls flat,' said Harry, scanning through the page so fast that Hermione felt dizzy watching his eyes move. 'But it's amusing nevertheless.'

'I say! This is brilliant! Who took the photo?' shouted Tracey in between her bouts of laughter.

'I think she must've taken it herself,' said Hermione with a little smile. 'I think Professor Prewett looks so nervous because he was being hunted down by a first year with a camera.'

This was apparently too much for Tracey, who rocketed so hard in her chair that she was in danger of falling off.

Within seconds, Madame Pince came running and angrily pointed at the door, clearly not entertained by the peals of laughter. 'Out! How dare you make such noise in my library! Leave, now! All of you!'

So with nothing else to do, and Tracey still not calming down, they had no choice but to leave.

'And now what?' asked Hermione, shooting one last longing look at the closing library doors.

'Common room?' proposed Greengrass. 'At least I'm not in danger of freezing my ears off down there.'

'I guess,' said Harry.

The common room was, thankfully, rather deserted, and their favourite spots near the fire were unoccupied.

Harry, apparently now wiser to Greengrass' schemes, chose a single seater near the fire. The blonde, however, simply smiled, sat down on the armrest, and leant over the back of the seat so that she was looking down at Harry from slightly behind.

Harry sighed. 'There are enough seats for all of us, Daphne.'

But Greengrass only smiled. 'Oh, I'm fine, Harry, thanks.'

'I love it,' purred Tracey, writhing on top of the sofa. It might even have looked suggestive if it hadn't been for Tracey's unfortunate child-like figure. As it was, it rather looked like a cat enjoying the warmth. 'Harry? Do you think you could-'

'No. It's getting embarrassing to call Minnie just for your chocolate every time.'

'But she seems to enjoy working!' protested Tracey pleadingly, looking up at him while lounging about upside down. 'Pwetty, pwetty pwease?' she begged.

'No.'

'I wouldn't mind a hot drink, too, I guess,' said Hermione, feeling a bit of pity for her sister in arms, not least of all because her current pose would probably get a different reaction had it been someone of Greengrass' proportions.

'See?!' Tracey immediately shot up, sitting upright now but still staring hungrily at Harry. 'Come on, don't be such a sourpuss!'

Harry flicked his tongue in annoyance. 'Anyone else want something? I'll only be calling her once this evening. I've already got enough detentions as it is.'

'As if you're really sorry about that,' jeered Greengrass from atop her throne.

Harry seemed to miss her remark.

'I want my hot chocolate! No, make that two. Or maybe better a jug full of hot cocoa, just to be safe!' said Tracey, looking more excited, reflected Hermione, than at any of their breakthroughs during the course of their research.

'Minnie!' called Harry. One familiar pop later, the house-elf with its tauntingly cute long ears appeared in their midst.

'Master Harry called?' Her bulging eyes immediately sought out Harry.

Harry apparently read something from her expression, because he suddenly sat up straight, nearly unseating Greengrass behind him, who shrieked and threw her arms around Harry's neck to keep herself from falling. 'Sorry, Harry,' she said, grinning sheepishly and letting go.

'What is it, Minnie?' asked Harry, who stared intently at the elf.

'A parcel is arrived from Gringotts, Master Harry. I is having it with me right now. Cranky said it be from the continent. Are you wishing for it at present time?'

Harry's eyes shot towards Leo, who nodded.

'Thank you, Minnie. You can leave it with me here.'

The elf beamed at Harry, producing a shoebox-sized package from within the folds of her modest garment that was decidedly incapable of ever concealing it under normal circumstances.

'Well, let's have a look,' said Leo, getting up and taking a seat on Harry's second armrest, much to Greengrass' displeasure.

Reverently, Harry opened the package, swatting filling aside until he uncovered a fairly new tome with a leather cover and silver letters.

 _Dark Creatures and their secrets – Anonymous._

'Good find, Leo,' breathed Harry, his hand caressing the binding. 'You may go for now, Minnie.'

The elf bowed happily and vanished with another popping sound.

'What about my chocolate?!' yelled Tracey, scandalised.

'This is more important than chocolate,' mused Harry in a low voice. Slowly, his fingers traced along the leather. He opened the book, staring at the contents, an unreadable expression on his face. 'I think it's a translation of another work,' he said out loud, his eyes scanning the pages in the kind of speed Hermione had come to expect from him. 'There are many Latin phrases left untranslated, making me believe that this might be a translation of a modern work inspired by a text from the Middle Ages. Probably a monastery transcript – the untranslated original. The modern one more than likely a document of some Ministry. You can see how the writer of this one tries and fails to stick to the original layout, likely because of the difference in character sizes of the fine minuscule and modern fonts.'

'How do you know, Harry?' asked Hermione breathlessly.

'It comes with experience.'

'He means to say he's lived in his library pondering ancient tomes for the better part of his life,' said Tracey with a smirk.

'That, too. Well, let's have a look.' Solemnly, he turned the pages, skipping towards the entries under L.

Then, he grinned in a dark manner. 'Listen:

 _Lethifolds are black, carnivorous, and nocturnal shrouds that will indiscriminately attempt to prey on any magical and mundane creature they happen upon._

 _These vicious, artful pack hunters are known to ambush both beast and man alike during the night, wrapping themselves around their victims to digest them whole. Proven sightings are, in contrast to popular medieval myths of Wales, verifiably confined to the tropics._

 _Lethifolds are among the oldest and most dangerous predators to plague Earth, belonging to the infamous "Six Scourges", and they are traceable throughout most of humanity's history. Indeed, a famous, ancient piece of early Mokayan mural art, estimated to be at least 3500 years old, depicts a swarm of Lethifolds attacking an unidentified settlement (q. v. "The Howling Night"). Despite their established and proven existence, factual knowledge about these fleeting heralds of bale is limited._

 _Confirmed sightings of Lethifolds are among the most dangerous magical catastrophes to befall the tropical world, and most magical races treat their appearance as a natural disaster more than anything as Lethifolds have no natural enemy except the sun, which incinerates and kills them instantly. In their ravenous hunger, they are known to have wiped out several races of pre-historic dragons and civilisations in the tropics, magical and mundane, only to ultimately vanish again._

 _Self-styled witnesses and mythical accounts both tell of the abilities of so-called Elder Packs of Lethifolds, who, so some explorers and natives claim, allegedly develop the habit of drinking the lifeblood of their victims to strengthen themselves, just like ancient Olmec and Mayan legends foretell a great catastrophe at the hands of sentient specimen (q. v. "Drinker of Minds"), though most modern scholars see this as a semi-religious attempt to explain the appearance of a stray pack of Dementors or newly acquired knowledge of their existence, whereas others still point out that Dementors have never been spotted in the Soconusco region and certainly not at the time._

 _Zhou the Sagacious famously depicts his nemesis in his_ Thousand Nights of War _as a black shadow of wicked whispers who continuously referred to him as "Little Curseling, Regret and Astray" (editor's note: translation contested), which modern scholars interpret as implied philosophical discourse about sovereign rights. Though many of the aspects he describes like their famous verbal spat before their last confrontation are considered literary hyperbole, his allusions to the so-called Deep One possessing the powers to affect the weather have been confirmed to be researched by the Academy of Ji._

 _Though the majority of claims as to their magical abilities are still being contested at this point, it seems possible that, at the very least, older or more powerful packs of Lethifolds might have an effect on those of weak mind or constitution (q. v. History of Ji: 1900-1950; Siam incident.). Leaked intelligence reports of the incident attribute the deaths of most of the junior research assistants to Lethifold presence, though a spokeswizard later vehemently denied any physical contact between the group and their objects of study._

 _Any appearance of Lethifolds is subject to the International Convention about Magical Catastrophes and Disaster Protection and is to be reported without delay. Interbreeding and unsanctioned research of Lethifolds is forbidden on pain of death under charter IV, IC (1648). All countries penalise any and all use of magic imitating or attracting Lethifolds harshly. Some countries are known to ban the subject to discourage improper research._

 _For related information, also see "Six Scourges", "Early Chinese Sorcerer Kings", "Academy of Ji", "International Magical Law", "The Most Extraordinary League of Gentlemanly Huntsmen", "Medieval Myths of Britain".'_

'Merlin, I've been so thick.' Harry groaned, ignoring Leo's and Tracey's inquisitive glances.

'Bingo!' shouted Hermione excitedly. When everyone stared at her as if she'd grown a second head, she slumped back into her seat, trying her best to hide her embarrassment. 'It's a Muggle thing,' she explained herself in a small voice.

* * *

 _ **AN, Difficulty of spells:** As I've mentioned at some point, I've made a few changes to magic in my story, without straying too much from the original - hopefully. You should keep in mind that in Black Luminary Crabbe and Goyle would probably not have been able to learn the Killing Curse – ever. That dude that fired the curse like a light show in HBP? He'd have been a total (lunatic) genius. Voldemort being able to nonverbally cast it left and light would be a terrifying feat instead of something somewhat ordinary. I think Rowling trivialised the spell a bit too much, to a comical degree even if you think about it: For whatever reason, the glorious Hogwarts defenders (who more or less refrain from using Unforgivables) take fewer casualties than those exclusively using fatal attacks and trained in the Dark Arts. Plot armour + banzai charge = profit!_

 _Anyway, for my story at least consider the Unforgivables to be slightly out of reach for the average Joe._

 _ **AN, Lethifolds:** Yes, they're a bit different in my story. Yes, Harry feels like the biggest Ron Weasley ever right now._

 _ **AN, Daphne:** The first very concrete hint of her origin was actually dropped as early as chapter six (chapter two as well, though that one isn't understandable without context). Just so you know that I'm not pulling that one out of my hat. The first book is literally strewn with hints like that._

 _ **AN, Ball:** Don't worry; the plot won't be halting at all this time around, and it won't be anything like Harry's first year – you'll see._


	36. VoD: Oops!

**Oops!**

* * *

'Lethifolds!' Leo burst out. 'In the name of Merlin, that's incredible!'

'Hold your Thestrals, Lucky. What's the big deal? So now we know there's some kind of feral curtain in the forest – so what?' Tracey let herself fall back on the sofa, her legs idly kicking the air.

'You don't understand, Tracey!' Leo sat, if possible, even straighter than usual as he took the book out of Harry's hands. 'This is a sensation!'

'What do you mean?' asked Hermione, taken aback by how excited the boy seemed.

'First of all, this book is amazing! I was obsessed with Lethifolds when I was a child, but I've never found so much good information! You don't understand! The book says it all: Even though the Chinese have been trying for decades, nobody really knows anything worthwhile about Lethifolds except that they never come out during the day and that they're weak to the Patronus. Look at the chance we have here!'

Leo stood up, pacing up and down, the book still in his hand. 'This is amazing! Harry, you told me you could do the Patronus, didn't you?'

And yet, Harry didn't answer. He was still sitting stock-still, as if he'd seen a ghost, still staring at the same place the book had been before Leo had snatched it away. When he spoke, it seemed as if his mind was far away, his voice even softer than usual. 'Leo? Knowing what we do as of now, is there something that comes to your mind thinking we you think back to when we fled from the forest that night? Something...about the howling?'

Leo looked down at Harry, puzzled, his excitement momentarily curbed. 'What do you mean? I don't think so. Why do you ask?'

'I see.'

'Harry, with your Patronus, do you think we could...?'

'Absolutely not!' snapped Daphne, flaring up at once, glaring defiantly at Leo. 'That's much too dangerous! Didn't you only escape by a hair's breadth last time? This is too risky!'

'We didn't know any better last time.' Leo, to Hermione's amusement, was almost whining at this point. 'If we prepare accordingly, don't you think we cou-'

'No.'

All faces, once again, turned towards Harry.

'I...I'm sorry, Harry? Come again?' asked Leo, his wildly gesticulating hands slowly dropping.

'I said no. We still don't have enough information, but even so I'm fairly sure I don't stand a chance against whatever _is_ lurking in the forest anyway. This research is suspended – at least until we get back from the holidays.' To their incredulity, he suddenly stood up, and – this time – Greengrass really _did_ fall from her makeshift throne.

'Ow! Harry, what gives?' she asked, totally bewildered and rubbing her back.

'I'm off to bed.'

'But the forest,' Leo repeated disbelievingly, his gaze flickering between the book and Harry.

'No – more – research. At least wait until we get back from the break.'

'But-'

'LEO!' Harry suddenly spun around, his voice freezing Leo's ardour like ice. 'No more research for now. Do you understand me?'

Leo sagged, the book hitting the floor with a soft thud. Then he sighed wistfully. 'Well, alright, but I don't understand wh-'

'Good night.' With one last nod but no further explanation, Harry's figure dissolved in the darkness of the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories.

'What just happened?' asked Hermione, studying the faces of their little research group.

Daphne looked relieved. Tracey was still lamenting her lost chance to get some more hot chocolate, Lethifolds apparently already far from her mind. Leo, by contrast, looked as if Harry had snatched all his birthday presents.

Everyone minus Tracey exchanged nervous glances. This wasn't at all what Hermione had expected when they'd ordered the book.

'Isn't it obvious?' said Tracey with a shrug, still making a comical face as she critically inspected her rather short legs she had stretched into the air. 'He's just realised something – something bad, and now he needs to check on it during the holidays. He's probably going to bury himself in books again. Also, most of this information didn't seem exactly new to him. Did you see his face? I know that look of his,' she concluded, kicking the air as if she were working out. 'That's the look of a guy who's rolled a big ball of snow down a steep mountain only to see it spinning out of control.'

This time, they all gaped silently at Tracey. The girl rolled her eyes, still lying on her back, kicking the air. 'What?!' she shot back at them all, looking inexplicably grumpy. 'I wouldn't have meddled if only you guys were a bit faster on the uptake!'

 _~BLVoD~_

'Get up, Harry! You won't have time for breakfast otherwise.'

Not for the first time, Harry wondered if there wasn't some better way to wake up. Daphne stood in front of his bed, drawing back the curtains with as much noise as possible. Absentmindedly rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sat up, moaning and cursing as if tax auditors had rung unexpectedly.

'When did you get to sleep?' asked Daphne, an amalgam of worry and amusement.

'When I left the common room,' mumbled Harry, too tired to think about his answer.

'How can you be that sleepy, then? Come on, I've laid out a smart set of robes, and a fresh towel is over there.'

Harry, despite himself and his recent progress, felt himself go rather red. 'Er, D-Daphne? You do realise Tracey was making fun of us the other day, right? That comment about my wife getting me every day and so forth...'

'Of course,' replied Daphne with infuriating tranquillity. Wordlessly, she handed him the robes she had chosen for him to wear (standard Hogwarts set with a well-hidden coat of arms of his family) and the towel, pointing in the direction of the bathroom. 'Off you go.'

Harry stared at her, wondering if this was the time to make a stand for the rights of men worldwide. When he saw the glint in her eyes, he decided that it wasn't. With a sigh, he took the outfit he had been ord- the outfit she had _recommended_ him to wear. His eyes sweeping across the room, there was just one more question that weighed on his mind.

'Er, Daphne?'

'Yes, Harry?'

'Why is Yaxley lying on his bed, fully clothed?'

'Your roommates got a bit snappy with me.'

'So you decided that he'll have to take one for the team?' he asked, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

'Of course not,' she responded with a sweet smile. 'He was simply the slowest to dodge.'

Sometimes, Harry really couldn't help noticing strange likenesses between Daphne and Amy. At least Tori was sweet, innocent, and did as she was told. As he entered the shower, he couldn't help wondering how long that would last.

 _~BLVoD~_

The castle was in a strange mood. Despite the staff's best efforts to brighten the last few days of school with a hint of festivity, the topic that seemed to be on everyone's minds these days was neither Christmas nor Yule; no, it was Lovegood's article in the Quibbler.

Prewett had, to Harry's grim delight, apparently spent an entire lesson with each class to painstakingly refute every single accusation made against his person, thus turning a very niche and fairly unpopular article in a shoddy old magazine into the hottest topic of the entire school. Over the course of three days, the number of Quibblers that arrived early in the morning increased exponentially. Prewett, adamant if understandably agitated, insisted that the truth will out. Harry, on the other hand, knew better: Truth only ever stood a chance if it arrived early. A bit of truth that arrived three days late to the carnival of lies was little more than a fancy attraction on the side.

At this point, the best Prewett could hope for was, in Harry's eyes, for the whole thing to blow over before most of Hogwarts left for the holidays. Otherwise, a bit of mildly annoying school talk could very well turn into a lot of seriously degrading society talk.

All the nasty whispering in the corridors felt quite invigorating to Harry, who didn't believe he would ever tire of Prewett's strained smile. Sadly, the prospect of the upcoming ball loomed over his malicious joy, to not even speak of the one nagging thought he'd tried to keep from his mind ever since that blasted book had arrived. It was as if someone was trying to ruin his mood now that he was genuinely enjoying Hogwarts for the first time.

'I'm really sorry, Harry. I can't believe I'm saying this, but my research takes precedence – even over the Black Ball,' Aenor had said with a rueful smile during their last meeting before the break.

He had made some remarkable progress with the barrier – at least Aenor seemed to think so. Harry was downright annoyed that the spell as a whole still eluded him. So far, Aenor had made him learn most steps of the magic separately, and Harry had managed that bit rather easily. Now, however, when it had finally come to the long-awaited bit of putting it all together, he soon realised that everything prior to that had been a walk in the park.

'Oh. It's no problem,' replied Harry hastily. 'I just thought – well...' Yet what exactly he thought then and there, words didn't seem to exist to express it.

'Disappointed you couldn't invite me over again?'

When he saw her amused expression, he felt compelled to defend himself. 'What? No! It's never dull with you around, I'm willing to you give you that. But I don't really mind either way,' he said, trying to sound more confident than he was. 'I've been looking forward to having a few days off in our library at any rate.'

Aenor laughed loudly, stepping around her desk to tussle his hair like she'd done a few times before. 'How about this: if your grandfather decides to continue holding the ball each year, you'll have the pleasure of my company next year, alright?'

'I'll think about it, Miss Rose, in case I don't have any other arrangements, obviously,' he returned with a cocky grin.

'Then it's a deal, Mr Black.' She was already on her way back to her treasured desk, when she suddenly stopped, looking back over her shoulder, one finger to her lip. 'Oh, and Harry?'

'Hmm?'

'Don't do anything reckless while at home.'

Gratified to see some Hufflepuffs bent excitedly over a truly battered-looking edition of the Quibbler, Harry eventually entered the Great Hall, still pondering Aenor's cryptic words. _What could she have meant? 'Don't do anything reckless.' Is something supposed to happen?_

Prewett, Harry noticed, sat at the teachers' table, prodding his food with little fervour, his skin looking somewhat waxen. With a smug grin, Harry walked in the direction of his excitedly chattering cousin with a new spring in his step.

 _Prewett can't be up to anything, can he? No, he'll be glad when this whole thing's blown over._

It was good, Harry decided, to walk across the hall without anyone pointing or craning their necks. Dragging Prewett into the mud had definitely been the best decision he'd made at Hogwarts yet – or at the very least the most satisfying one.

 _Does Aenor know about the Lethifolds? But how could she? They aren't letting anyone leave the castle._ In his mind, he revisited a few instances of Aenor casually demonstrating her rather unsettling mastery of magic. _Okay, I guess if she really wanted to, she could, but even then ... they're here at Hogwarts, aren't they? How could that be related to home? Maybe it's something political? I would've heard – surely!_

Harry sighed, resigned to put the thought out of his head for the time being. Maybe Aenor was just being Aenor, Merlin knew witches could be incomprehensible at times. Most of the time, he corrected himself as the chatter at the table came to a sudden halt the moment he arrived.

'Er, hello?' His voice trailed off in the suddenly gaping silence.

'Harry!' Daphne cried out, making space for him and yet somehow mysteriously failing to meet his eyes – something she was usually quite keen to do under any circumstance.

'Talking about me, by any chance?'

Hermione looked embarrassed, pointedly opening a book, Tracey defiant – but, as it were, he wasn't dependent on their cooperation. Unblinkingly, he stared at Daphne, pleased to see her determination melt like wax on fire. However, just when she was finally about to give in, and opened her mouth with an apologetic grin, Tracey's slim hand shot over her mouth from the side.

'This isn't the time to spill, Daphy! Harry, this is girls' business, keep your nose out!'

Harry's eyes wandered from his cousin to her best friend and finally to the Muggle-born witch who had been staring at the same line in her little notebook for about thirty seconds now. He could always pressure either her or Daphne into answering him, but was this really worth it? Tracey would probably get complicated over it. And he really had enough on his plate; he didn't need to add to it over something so irrelevant.

'Alright, suit yourself.'

Relaxing a bit, he sat down and started looking around for some food to catch his interest. With amusement, he observed Hermione's eyes finally vanquishing the sentence she'd been staring holes at. Tracey, too, reluctantly let go of Daphne, who still looked rather torn.

'So, er, what are you planning to wear at the ball, Harry?' asked Tracey in a transparent attempt to start a conversation.

Harry rolled his eyes. Had he really just dodged one girly topic for another? 'I don't know. Robes, I expect?' he added with a grin.

Tracey snorted. 'My fashion advice: don't go starkers! On the other hand, we sure could use a laugh, and you never know; maybe some truly desperate soul might even appr- OW!'

Suddenly, Tracey was rocking in her seat, holding her leg. Hermione was, once again, trying to scale the indomitable line of puzzlement. Daphne was staring ahead, looking quite innocent.

'I think,' said Harry, coughing politely, 'that I might adjust my attire to my companion – provided I still find one, naturally.'

'WHAT?!' yelled Daphne, suddenly looking extremely interested. 'You still don't have anyone? But we thought- How about we...' Then, her face fell. 'Aw, shit! The old crone won't allow it, will she?' she asked glumly.

'I'm afraid not,' answered Harry, looking apologetic. 'Maybe I should ask Amy? Or Dora, possibly?'

'I'm amazed Tonks still lets you get off with calling her that,' said Daphne with a half-hearted grin. 'Last I heard, she's doing some kind of nonsense drills with the Aurors. And Amy's all set to torture Draco at the ball again.'

Harry sighed, leaning back. 'Darn! Well, I suppose I'll have to ask around... I don't want Tori at the ball yet; she's far too, well, let's go with impressionable, and even then there's still the matter with your grandmother.'

'Don't worry, Harry! I'm sure there will be quite a lot of girls who won't mind going with you. I've been reading up on the Black Ball. Did you know there actually are books about it in the library? It's got quite the history! Incidentally, I told Tracey only this morning that some of the Ravenclaws seem a bit friendlier now that Prewett's taking the heat. You could always ask Patil, I suppose. Not the Gryffindor one, obviously, but I somehow don't think Padma would reject your offer...' Hermione levelled a small smile at him, finally putting the book down.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Daphne's horrified look as she stared at Hermione as if the Muggle-born had drawn her wand on her. 'Er, no! We don't need to make this more complicated than necessary, do we?' Daphne blurted out. 'Yes, how about this? You just go with Tracey.'

'With _Tracey_?' asked Harry, taken aback.

'With _him_?' Tracey looked as if she'd been told sweets would be bad for her health. 'Why? I don't want to!'

'Could you excuse us for a second, Harry?' Offering no explanation, Daphne dragged her best friend into one corner of the hall, where they started a heated argument, by the looks of it.

'What's going on?' asked Harry, looking from Daphne and Tracey to Hermione.

'I, er, who knows,' said Hermione vaguely, once again opening her book. Harry idly wondered if the binding would take damage from the strain at this rate.

Two minutes later, a thoroughly pleased Daphne and an equally grumpy petite witch at her side returned to the table.

Meeting Harry's baffled gaze, Daphne elbowed her best friend in the side.

Tracey turned to look at him, her face religiously blank. 'I have just had a change of heart,' she incanted in a voice so dull that it might well be used as a blunt instrument. 'I would be very pleased if you would grant me the honour of being your partner for the ball,' she continued, staring straight ahead as if reading a script. The muscles near her lips gave a bit of a nervous twitch. 'Please,' she added, rolling her eyes.

Harry was impressed. That had to have been the most insincere request he'd ever received. Speaking as someone who had to deal with politics for years, that was saying something. Then again, if Tracey was truly so much against it, this might actually turn out to be quite fun.

Harry smiled, doing his best to look immensely delighted with this development. 'Of course, Tracey. You do me great honour,' he said, flashing his most charming smile. 'I am so very pleased to accept.'

Tracey looked horrified, quite plainly having predicted him to say no.

'Well, that's settled, then,' said Daphne, ignoring her friend's desperate, if non-verbal, plea.

'What about you, Daphy?' quailed Tracey. 'You said you wanted to go so badly!'

'Oh, I'll just ask Leo to reconsider. I'm sure he won't mind.'

Tracey slumped down on the table. 'Oh. Great.'

'So?' asked Harry with a good-natured smile. 'What shall we be wearing then, Tracey? Gosh – I'm so looking forward to this. Do you have some shoes with high heels? Could be a tad awkward to dance with you otherwise,' he added innocently.

'I'm so going to get you for this, Harry James Black,' muttered Tracey through gritted teeth.

 _~BLVoD~_

Being woken noisily by Daphne, sleeping through breakfast, realising that his cousin had already packed his _entire_ trunk, and trying to hide his embarrassment over Tracey's roaring laughter, the day of their departure from Hogwarts passed in the blink of an eye.

It was a very strange blink, though, Harry had to admit. Their departure from the ancient castle resembled nothing less than a parade with a guard of honour, nearly five dozen Aurors flanking their cavalcade. He had the strange urge to wave at them from within the coach.

Why the Ministry couldn't just organise a dozen Portkeys was beyond him. Had Dumbledore maybe done something to better counter the Lethifold menace?

'So what are you going to do this Yule, Honey?' asked Tracey randomly, playing with the enormous bobble of her garishly yellow hat that even now had a thin film of ice and snow.

'Homework!' answered Hermione excitedly. 'I just hope I have enough time to do Professor McGonagall's essay justice!'

'Who would have thought,' mumbled Daphne. 'Don't you have anything more _fun_ to do, Granger?'

'But school work _is_ fun!' protested Hermione earnestly, rubbing her hands to get the cold out of her limbs.

Daphne just stared at the girl, her expression clearly suggesting that she considered the Muggle-born a lost cause. 'Fancy that!' she replied with more tact than Harry had expected.

'What about the stupendous amount of Potions books you've been ordering since last year, Sweetie?' asked Tracey in a treacherously casual sort of voice.

'That's...different!' snapped Daphne. 'I just...Well, it's different!'

'Fancy that!' returned Tracey haughtily, shrieking mirthfully as she evaded Daphne's casual swipe.

The train ride was as boring as ever. Harry refused to partake in their chatter and banter, his mind wandering to both Aenor's strange words of farewell as well as Leo's blasted book. Trying to hide his nervousness, he stared outside. Now that they'd left Scotland behind them, one could occasionally make out faint rays of light struggling to penetrate the overcast sky.

To their surprise, even London was coated in a thick blanket of snow, much to the public's dismay. Muggle-London, it seemed, was woefully unprepared to face snow as high as one foot.

'See you next year!' Hermione waved enthusiastically at them, her parents standing behind her.

Harry waved back, making it a point to be overwhelmingly well-mannered towards Hermione's mother, just because he knew it annoyed both the Muggle-born as well as her father.

To his slight disappointment, it was – again – not his grandfather who waited for him but, rather, the Lestranges. Rodolphus was a haggard-looking man whose floppy brown hair hid his erratic eyes and gaunt, angular face.

'Harry!' he boomed in his loud voice, shaking his hand firmly. 'I hope you've kept an eye on our brood?'

'Did you tell him to do that?' asked Amy suspiciously. 'He's forbidden me from getting myself expelled!'

Rodolphus grinned, or rather, one side of his mouth curved a bit. He clapped Harry on the shoulder, making him sink a few inches into the snow. 'And you better stick to that if you know what's good for you! Our ancestors will turn in their graves if my eldest daughter fails to get her OWLs.'

'And they won't be alone in their graves,' added Bellatrix threateningly, looking her children up and down. 'Harry, I'll drop you off. I'll be seeing the both of you later,' she added, nodding towards Leo and Amy.

Amy shrugged, whereas Leo returned a curt nod. The Lestranges, Harry reflected grimly, shifting a bit in the snow, weren't exactly the warmest of parents.

Bellatrix held out her hand, and Harry, knowing what to expect, took it.

He had, by now, more data available to compare the thoroughly uncomfortable sensation of apparition than he would have liked, and it always had a distinct sensation to it, depending on the person in question. It had always perplexed him that Bella's magic, for all her, well, honestly slightly unhinged ways, felt incredibly smooth. She was, he reminded himself again, not someone you would want to have facing you down with her wand.

'Your grandfather is home, but apparently busy over arrangements and upcoming meetings. Cissy and I will be having a look every other day, just to see that things are in order. Also,' she said, gazing at him sternly, 'we will continue where we left off with your lessons.'

Harry was about to open his mouth when she continued mercilessly, 'And don't even think about talking back! You're still wet behind the ears when it comes to real duels. We haven't even touched the surface with curses; we'll find something that suits you yet, you better believe it!'

Harry sighed in a defeated sort of way. Witches were troublesome. 'Yes, Auntie.'

'Good. Was Amadina any trouble?'

'Not really,' answered Harry, stepping over the threshold of their Welsh mansion, smiling slightly at the sight of the little town and its magnificent castle nestled atop the small island. Peripherally aware of Bella's disbelieving look, he decided to clarify, 'At least much less than I expected. She's been positively virtuous – by her standards at least.'

'That girl's trouble,' said Bellatrix Lestrange, offhandedly aiming her wand at some dog from the village, grinning as it yelped in panic and hobbled off as far as its three remaining good legs could carry it. 'I wonder where she got it from.'

Once completely inside, Harry assured his aunt that he would be ready for her lesson the very next day, promising three times to refrain from ducking out of it.

As soon as Bellatrix had left, he dropped all pretence and his trunk both, rushing off towards the stairs.

He ignored the various portraits, running towards the library, past rows and rows of increasingly old and precious tomes, finally reaching the segment where each piece of their collection had its own glass casing. For a fraction of a second, his eyes lingered on a very special book in a gilded vitrine.

That wasn't the one he'd come for, though. No, the one that currently interested – and, more importantly, worried – him was the one in plain, cheap cow leather, near the very back. With a tap of his wand, the casing vanished, releasing the frail book with pages that seemed about to fall apart.

It had no title and no author; all they knew was that it had been written by some ancestor of theirs. His stomach felt leaden as he picked it up with trembling hands.

 _It couldn't be..._

As fast as he dared to handle the fragile pages, he skipped to the part he'd studied just two years ago. Thankfully, some more recent family member had scribbled a translation of the passage in the margins.

' _I have made the most incredible of discoveries! Finally, decades of research, thousands and thousands of Denarii later, the way forward has been illuminated to me. A source for their blood, which has cost me a hundred fortunes and lifetimes of luck to procure, shall be the catalyst of our union. Today, I will attempt the first summoning, using runic scripts to ensure our own safety. The village shall make a fine preliminary target for now. Everything is set. Come tomorrow, nobody will dare stand in our way!_ '

His eyes scanned the pages that followed, the diagrams, the sketches and designs, the incantations and intellectual rhapsodies, flying over them as fast and hungrily as ever.

The author was a verifiable genius, of that there could be no doubt. The use of charms Harry knew would only be publicised centuries later; flawless calculations, designs and drafts; the use of potion techniques that were still modern even by today's standards. In all honesty, Harry felt humbled, insignificant. And yet... And yet Harry couldn't quite shake the feeling that this, inexplicably, might have been a topic better left untouched. Some things – he had learned this lesson quite painfully himself – could never be understood. Some things, he knew, would always be alien to the human mind – dark and eternal.

'Bond of blood … mind of darkness ... potent Occlumency,' Harry muttered under his breath.

No matter how often he read the surprisingly short passages, he couldn't extract any new information. Was that a good or a bad thing? It worried him that the book had only so much to say about the object of its study.

His thoughts racing, he stared at the thick, ancient parchment, his eyes tracing the ink that had burned into the page just enough to be noticeable.

Hesitantly, he put the book back into its casing.

Then, he just stood there, as still and motionless as a monument to himself.

'No,' he whispered softly. 'Surely...'

With a start, he was off again, dashing madly towards the grand duelling chamber, his forlorn steps on the pristine marble echoing like drops of water in a vast cavern. His breathing grew ragged as he steadied himself with flailing hands by grabbing the nearest door frame. Finally, there it was! With all his might, he sprinted towards a certain spot behind a pillar at the far edge of the room.

There, softly glimmering in the darkness of the commonly abandoned chamber, in almost invisible blue-grey on the spotless marble shone four circles of, to his dismay, disturbingly familiar repeating runes.

Harry stared down at them, not daring to breathe, his heart hammering in his chest.

His eyes widened, and, in his slowly unfurling terror, he took the sleeve of his three-hundred Galleon robes and wiped with all his might at the scribbling on the floor.

Twenty seconds of sheer terror later, he dared to have another look.

The runes were still there, still undisturbed, still glowing in the permanent rune ink Aunt Narcissa had presented him on his fourteenth birthday.

'Oops!'

 _ **AN, Reference pointer:** For those of you who don't quite remember or understand what's going on (which isn't so surprising given that the chapter this one refers to is more than half a year old), you might want to have a short look at chapter 11 (Thorns and Blossoms) again._


	37. VoD: Premonitions I

_**Important note:**_

 _This chapter is still a really light read in the grand scheme of things, but I just wanted to remind you guys that this story_ is _rated M and not for language reasons._

 _Also, not completely unrelated, I really_ do _love animals, especially dogs._

 **Premonitions I**

* * *

 _Seven days in the future..._

Daphne smiled as she stared outside, bathing in the sun that shone through the scattered clouds with their faint promise of snow, squinting involuntarily as the rays of light were reflected by the brumal scene of tranquillity that played out behind her window.

London was a picturesque dream of winter, heavily buried under two feet of snow, adorned with icicles and steaming chimneys. A few children were playing outside, their playful laughter pervading the house like a dozen warmth-giving hearths. Her smile grew a bit as the sudden scent of freshly baked cookies reached her bedroom, and she could hear Tori's whining pleas for an early taste even up here.

She was glad they were in their small house in the city. Despite its modest dimensions compared to Greengrass Mansion (and its virtual non-existence compared to the Black Estate), she much preferred their current location. Mostly because she didn't have to suffer her grandmother stalking the corridors like a nagging zombie-rug come alive, but also because she had some very fond memories of the place. The Blacks too had a smaller abode in London, and she and Harry would often meet when they were both younger, either before _that_ day, or later, when she was still enviously ignorant of the increasingly messy political disaster her family had become.

Daphne's eyes glazed over.

'Why do you call him Uncle Arcturus?' she remembered a young girl asking the reclusive, frustratingly shy boy with his big, jade green eyes, almost ten years ago now.

'W-what?' the boy had said, watching her warily, panting from exhaustion.

'Mummy said he's Lord Black!'

The tauntingly adorable eyes stared back, slightly frantic under her scrutiny. She had been told to be very, very patient with him, and this had been their first time 'playing' alone and without the supervision of either her father or Uncle Sirius. And she had managed to be patient – for about one minute. But the frail and diminutive boy just looked so cute with his giant, mesmerising eyes of vibrant green and his unruly black hair. And so, following her desire to hug everything cute, little Daphne had chased the boy around the nursery until they'd both slumped down, worn out after a few dozen laps.

The boy arched an eyebrow. _So cute!_ 'I-Isn't he your grandfather?'

'Grand-grandfather!' Daphne declared proudly. 'But isn't he yours now, too? Mummy said so!'

Nervously, he returned a look. 'I...It feels better to say Uncle.'

'Really?! Then I'll try it too!'

Daphne couldn't help herself and burst out laughing, jumping on her bed and hiding her head under her pillow in embarrassment. It was strange, but for some reason or another, she'd never stopped calling her _great_ -grandfather Uncle even long after Harry had finally dared to address the man appropriately. He simply was Uncle Arcturus now.

Still giggling, she poked her head out from under the pillow, her eyes resting on the three dozen dresses that had managed to be short-listed for the ball. This time, she'd started early looking for the perfect raiment. She couldn't, of course, wear the same dress again so soon. No, that was sadly out of the question. She'd even tried to enlist unwilling help again, but Tracey was apparently busy helping her mum and Tori started wailing that she, too, wanted to go to the ball whenever Daphne asked her for advice.

Her grandmother had sent Daphne a very angry letter, reminding her of the deal she'd made a few months ago. But still, she thought with a playful grin, even classmates were allowed to share a dance, weren't they? Her gran couldn't possibly protest about one or two measly dances – just as friends, of course.

And Granger had, in her back-stabbing way, brought up a relevant point; some Ravenclaws really _did_ seem a fair bit more open towards Harry nowadays. Or maybe rather curious? Perhaps even interested?

Suddenly, she sat bolt upright, sending her pillow flying across the room where it collided with a bookshelf holding a complete and still shiny collection of _The Weekly Potioneer_.

Hadn't even that cow Parkinson remarked that she'd be glad to receive an invitation this year? They couldn't be trusted, of course, that much was perfectly clear to Daphne. Maybe they'd try getting close to Harry to satiate their curiosity, maybe to ingratiate themselves or maybe, Daphne felt her throat go dry, because they thought Harry wouldn't resist a more _straightforward_ advance.

And it was true that Harry was weak to women – just not that kind of weakness, hopefully. Surprisingly, and to her great elation, Harry also seemed to have made a bit of peace with some terrors of his past, generally being more indulgent and accepting of her presence, company, and even casual contact between them. Would that also mean that he'd be susceptible to scrubbers like Parkinson?

Granger's bossy voice, once again, drilled into her mind. 'I somehow don't think Padma would reject your offer...'

With a frown, Daphne inspected the dresses she'd laid out once more, ignoring the cheerful squealing of the children that fought an epic battle in the snow outside.

Good thing she'd been able to persuade Tracey. She, at least, was a safe bet – someone Daphne could trust. Why, Harry and Tracey had only ever met in her company before Hogwarts, and he'd never even attended Tracey's birthday. Now that she thought about it, Daphne was sure he'd never been at the Davis residence at all!

 _Yes, Tracey's a safe bet,_ she thought again. _She seemed particularly reluctant to go with him. All the better! I'm sure when the evening gets late, there won't be too many prying eyes, and then we'll see..._

This time, her wandering eyes lingered on a few dresses she had decided to label _mature_. Absorbed in thought, she walked over to the giant mirror that hung next to her wardrobe, inspecting all the important bits of her reflection critically.

 _Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to be a bit bolder this year..._

With a mischievous smirk, she twirled around. She was just about to dismiss a few of the more respectable dresses that had managed to survive the selection process until now, when she felt a sudden shiver running down her spine – like a deliberate wrong note during a symphony.

Frowning, she let the precious silk run through her fingers, listening with all her might to identify the strange tone that dared to mess with the serenade of her daydreams.

But it was dead silent.

Neither Tori's incessant begging, nor her mother's calm but amused admonishment could be heard, not even the children outside. It was as if the world was holding its breath.

Confused, Daphne looked around, trying to ignore that feeling of ice sliding down her back. As she walked over to the window, she saw that the sky was pitch black, with faint purple light flickering between the clouds.

Then, a blindingly bright bolt of lightning struck the street below and with the following thunder, the world came alive like a corpse rearing its ugly head...

 _~BLVoD~_

 _Present time..._

The Black estate in Wales was buzzing with the sort of organised chaos every looming major event might induce in staff and servants: elves frantically scurrying about; flocks of owls coming and going by the minute, leaving a general mess and blankets of feathers in the corridors; the master of the mansion receiving visitors and notes hourly; packages, supplies, gifts, and provisions arriving in heaps and heaps. And yet, the worst of it – or so it seemed – befell the one person who was not participating in the preparations in any way.

Harry could be found in the duelling chamber, books about runes, potions, blunted chisels, and half-empty magical cleaning solutions forming a magical circle of their own around the hunched figure that sat in the middle and repeatedly hit the cold marble in frustration after his latest failure. The dark circles around Harry's eyes were a thing of nightmares; he hadn't slept in about two days.

In his increasingly desperate state of mind, Harry had tried everything, from brute force to a delicate academic approach, all with the same crushing result. The runes on the floor, the blasted runes he'd drawn so many months ago in the spur of the moment, refused to yield.

Once more, Harry stared at the softly glowing scribble on the floor. It hadn't taken him more than a moment to draw them, and the spell... Harry had known, of course, that the spell had never been perfect. Not without reason, their progenitor had apparently halted his experiments. But the book had been there, hadn't it? Innocently lying in wait for him to try his hand. He couldn't have been the only Black in a few hundred years to be overcome with curiosity, could he?

Harry stared with red eyes at the runes, tearing at his hair. _How could such a simple thing go so wrong?_

The spell he'd used to surprise Aenor back then – it seemed like an eternity to Harry now – hadn't been all that difficult, truthfully speaking. But that, he reminded himself with a sinking feeling, was probably partly due to the...special circumstances involved. He'd just taken the author's word for it and come up with something simple to direct his creations. And now?

With a cry of frustration, he jumped up again, levelling his wand at the floor in front of him.

'Reducto!' he cried.

His reward was a few splinters of marble cutting his face, and, to make matters worse, when he hesitantly turned his head to have another look, the only place that didn't seem to have suffered any damage to its surface at all was the very place he so desperately wanted to vanish for good.

'Merlin, help me!' he prayed, his voice unnaturally high pitched. 'Why won't they go away!?'

But there was no answer – only the soft glow of the deceptively innocent runes that hummed peacefully, merrily doing their work of sustaining the horrors Harry had unleashed.

He stood up, kicking the can of Mrs Cower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover with all his might, feeling some amount of satisfaction as he watched it soar through the hall and crash into the wall on the far end. The notion of suing Mrs Cower for fraudulent advertisement seemed rather inviting.

Following a soft click, the heavy grandfather clock near the door announced the new hour with a morose melody that did nothing to lift his spirit.

Sparing the circle of runes one last hateful glance, he walked towards the door, taking great care to lock it up both manually as well as magically. True, both his grandfather and the elves wouldn't be kept out by these flimsy half-measures, but the elves would respect his wishes and Arcturus was much too busy to wander around the house for now. Thank Merlin!

Just the thought of confessing to his grandfather seemed to turn his legs into lead, so it wasn't at all surprising that Harry slouched towards the entrance of their estate in a particularly bad mood to meet with the visitor he knew to expect.

'There you are!' called Bellatrix Lestrange, standing next to a little crate. 'I was just about to go to the library!'

''lo Auntie,' he responded lugubriously.

Narrowing her eyes, his aunt took a few steps in his direction, inspecting his pale face and the still raw cuts from earlier. 'You look dreadful,' she declared conversationally.

'I'm not feeling so well. Do you think we could-'

'Not happening!' she cut him off. 'Follow me! I've got something special for you today.'

Harry watched her with some amount of concern as she levitated the crate not towards the first floor but towards the left. After all, some of Bellatrix's special lessons had haunted his dreams for months when he was a child.

'Er, where are we going?' he asked, resigning himself to the worst.

'The cellar!'

'The...cellar,' he repeated, feeling more apprehensive by the minute.

'Oh, yes. This isn't something to be done with windows in sight – no matter the wards.'

'Oh,' he responded glumly. 'Great!'

He followed her lead, down the worn stone steps that had been carved into the bare rock. The mansion was ancient, that Harry knew well, and the cellar was the oldest bit left standing. A grizzly place by any standards, where many a research more malevolent in nature had taken place. He could smell it in the air – curses, blood and bones.

Regrettably, that bit of information would likely only serve to encourage his aunt, so he kept his mouth shut as he followed her down the narrow descent, careful not to slip on the steep, rough steps, and inwardly grateful that it was quite unlikely Bellatrix knew of the _second_ level underneath the cellar.

Their shadows danced to the dirty light of Bellatrix's torch like shabby dancers in a derelict theatre, the uneven texture of the rough stone sometimes squeezing their shadows to half their size, sometimes ballooning Harry's half-light brother to a threatening, menacing giant that stalked his steps like a predator biding his chance.

Bellatrix looked around as if she were trying to remember something, until, with a triumphant cry, she entered what Harry knew to be the ancient 'guestroom'.

'Yes, this will do nicely,' she said, nodding happily, directing the crate to land at the far end of the cave-like room where the remains of a few chains still dangled from the wall and the low ceiling.

'What are we doing here, Auntie?' Harry asked, desperate to instil some amount of reason into his relative, his eyes lingering over a few spots that, in the torchlight, looked eerily cupreous in colour for simple stone.

'Well, I know we've only had that one lesson, but I've had enough already,' she answered fractiously. 'I just don't get it; you learned the Patronus all by yourself and created your first Portkey almost offhandedly. You're not _trying_ to fail, are you?' she asked dangerously.

'What? No!' he protested angrily. While it was true that he considered some, or possibly most of Bellatrix's curse arsenal way overboard and unnecessarily cruel and bloody, he didn't as such deny the necessity to have a few aces up his sleeve that could end a fight instantaneously. Not to mention that, even though this was something he would deny every day, the feeling of helplessness had always left a particularly insufferable taste in his mouth ever since Potter Manor. No, he definitely did want to learn, but the spells just refused to work.

Thankfully, Bellatrix seemed to believe him. 'Good. So I thought maybe you're actually not challenged sufficiently.'

Following a sweeping motion of her wand, the wooden panels of the crate fell over, revealing a large cage with about two dozen bouncy, happily barking but silenced golden retriever pups.

With terrible comprehension, Harry gaped first at the poor pups, then at his aunt, who didn't seem to notice or care for his pity. 'So,' she continued ruthlessly, 'I thought we'd start with the Unforgivables a bit early.'

She turned around, her eyes strangely wide with anticipation. 'How about we start with the most delicious curse of them all!' She smiled, licking her lips like a gourmet preparing for a feast. Then, her eyes wider than ever, she whipped her wand at the cage, illuminating the shady basement with a flash of garishly green light for the briefest of moments before one life was snuffed out like a candle in the wind. 'And that,' she breathed, her chest rising and falling excitedly, her eyes on the madly yapping pack of pups that clawed at the cage, 'is how it's done. Let me talk you through the details, and then it's your turn. Don't worry,' she said, grinning as if she was doing Harry a great favour, 'I'll bring even more pups tomorrow.'

 _~BLVoD~_

'Is Master wishing for some of the tea he so cherishes?' asked Minnie fearfully, hovering beside the huddled form of Harry.

'No.'

'Something to eat then, perhaps? Minnie will be happy to-'

'NO!' snapped Harry, his temper finally getting the better of him.

'M-Minnie is sorry, Master Harry. Minnie is sorry...' she apologised, her voice quivering a bit.

Harry groaned, looking up from where he had collapsed after his latest training session with his aunt. Minnie was kneeling in front of him, her red eyes laced with tears, her long ears drooping as she prostrated herself in front of the settee. He swallowed hard, feeling somehow even worse than before. 'I'm sorry, Minnie, but I'm not feeling particularly well right now.'

'M-Master Harry is not needing to apologise.' She hiccuped, gazing up at him with her lips trembling. 'But isn't there anything Minnie is able to do? She sees Master Harry withering away every day, but is unable to assist...'

'You cannot help me this time, Minnie.' He sighed, patting her head to calm her down a bit. 'I just...I really messed up this time,' he admitted in a whisper. 'I really messed up!'

Blowing her nose noisily, the elf looked up, abashed. 'Minnie isn't knowing anything about great wizards' problems, but when Minnie was just a tiny elfling, she forgot Master Sirius' cake in the oven. Oh, the shame! It was the first time Minnie was ever deemed old enough to do something important all by herself, and then she was messing up. Minnie was horrified!' she admitted, nodding with a guilty smile. 'Minnie tried to hide the cake and start anew, but there wasn't enough time, not enough time there was! But Minnie tried and tried so very hard, knowing that she must fail.'

'What happened?' asked Harry, smiling a bit at how conscience-stricken the elf sounded even after at least 30 years since her little misstep.

'Minnie made a huge mess of the kitchen in her panic, oh yes. And in the end, she had to confess everything to Cranky. He wasn't pleased,' she said in a very small voice, shivering slightly. 'Such a shouting Minnie never had to endure. But then-'

'But then?'

'Then Cranky just snapped his finger and everything was fine again – the cake, the kitchen, everything! Minnie learned not to try everything by herself that day, oh yes. Sometimes, it be better to fess up and get help from Cranky – much better! Though the shouting,' she added sheepishly, 'is being still just as bad.'

Harry finally gave a bit of a chuckle, reluctantly sitting up at last. 'Thanks, Minnie, I guess you're right. Well, it seems I'm better off to Grandfather then.'

The elf bobbed her head, looking at him with compassionate eyes. 'Just remember, Master Harry; the shouting is ending – eventually – and then it be all better.'

With a rueful smile, Harry waved at the elf, taking the first steps towards the larger of the two studies. The staircase seemed a bit bigger that day – or maybe he felt like seven-year-old again? For a while, he squirmed in front of the door, straightening his clothes, polishing his shoes with a flick of his wand until he couldn't think of anything more to delay the inevitable. With another sigh, he knocked.

'Come in.'

Arcturus sat behind the heavy oaken desk, the green light of the desk lamp evoking distasteful memories of his latest session with Bellatrix he really could do without for now.

'Please be seated, my son.' Arcturus didn't look up, his head bent over a long and official looking letter in some foreign tongue. 'What can I do for you? I apologise that I haven't had so much time, but the current political situation is keeping me quite busy, in addition to the ball, of course.'

'I understand, Grandfather,' Harry replied formally, bowing his head. 'I still beg to take up some of your time for a serious matter that has me preoccupied.'

This seemed to finally garner Arcturus' attention, and Harry could see him looking up briefly, the scratching of the quill ceasing for a second or two. 'Ah. Is this about your lessons with Bellatrix?'

'I-What?' Harry spluttered. 'You know about those?'

'Please, Harry, this _is_ my mansion, ours, but for the moment I am still its master. Of course, I know. In any case, even if I didn't take an interest in Bellatrix for the sake of all of us, she approached me to ask for permission to teach you the Unforgivables.'

Harry stared at the desk, his head still lowered.

'I saw no reason to dissuade her,' Arcturus continued with a small shrug. 'You're fifteen, and – disregarding one lapse of judgement that turned out to be inconsequential – you've proven to understand that secrecy is paramount. In fact,' he chuckled lightheartedly, 'your potential mastery of the Unforgivables worries me far less than the mere thought of Bellatrix walking around town with her wand. How goes the lesson, then?'

'Not particularly well,' Harry answered hoarsely.

Arcturus didn't seem notably affected by the news. 'Do not let it worry you. Others will be able to cast the spells for you, should you ever truly find yourself in need of one of them. Your disrelish too I find perfectly understandable.'

'I'm not here because of the lessons, Grandfather,' admitted Harry slowly, still refusing to look up.

'Ah, I see. Is this about the Lethifolds, then?'

Harry's heart skipped a beat, and it seemed to him as if his own very personal universe was freezing up. For a few seconds, only the sound of Arcturus' measured writing could be heard.

'Y-you knew?' Harry whispered.

Arcturus chuckled, finally laying down his quill for good. 'Raise your head, Harry.' Reluctantly, Harry looked up. His grandfather returned his gaze, his expression demure but neither angry nor, to Harry's incredulity, disappointed. 'Of course, I knew. You should realise, there are exactly two people in the whole world capable of summoning Lethifolds, and they're both sitting in this very room, my son. Who else, I ask you, could be responsible for our tropical killers in the chilly mountains of Scotland. Oh, I knew – indeed.'

'And you're not furious with me? You didn't _tell_ me?' Harry croaked.

'And why would I?' Arcturus returned evenly. 'I'm aware, naturally, that you're in over your head, my son, I know. But do you – perchance – remember the first and only rule I have ever established regarding magic in our household?'

Harry froze again. He remembered – of course, he did. Publicly as well as in private, the Blacks advocated the freedom of magic, all shades and all disciplines. Even the ban of the Unforgivables had been an affront to the family, back in the day, their argument being that magic could never be more evil than its wielder, that even magic to kill could save lives. This, of course, meant that Harry's education at the hands of his family had, no doubt, been a bit _different_ in comparison to what most of his peers had learned.

Freedom and accountability – those were the stones upon which the Blacks had built their agenda in times past, and they still kept to it. And thus, Harry had been invited to study any and all magic he deemed interesting, once Arcturus had assured himself that Harry had enough knowledge to avoid many of the hidden pitfalls more dangerous magical knowledge held in store. But, always, there had been one iron, axiomatic condition.

In Bellatrix's uncomplicated words: 'If it's your spell, it's your mess.'

Harry gulped. 'B-but Dumbledore – the Aurors from abroad!'

'Oh, I bet Dumbledore suspects us alright,' said Arcturus with a chuckle, and Harry couldn't help remembering the headmaster's piercing gaze the night he'd announced the lock-down. 'But there is virtually no way to prove that you're responsible unless you get caught red-handed. Also, I did you a bit of a favour in that regard.

'The Black family is, of course, deeply concerned about the security of the students at Hogwarts. Seeing as the old wards of the castle are beyond even the headmaster, and since we can't be exactly _sure_ if Lethifolds will be able to penetrate the defences, he's been ordered by the Ministry to remain on grounds at all times.'

'A...useful order, no doubt,' ruminated Harry, still desperate to catch up in the wily game his grandfather had only just informed him he'd been playing for months.

'Quite so. Why, I have been able to get some interesting laws through the Wizengamot only this week thanks to the absence of our esteemed Chief Warlock.'

'The Lethifolds are still following my directive to kill Aenor, aren't they?' Harry uttered in a hushed voice, thinking back on how the stormy weather had seemed to follow them, even abroad. And hadn't there been some trouble with missing Muggles back when Aenor had business on the continent? Even the attack on her person during the summer break – it all fit!

'Yes, I rather think so. Well, as far as I can tell she's perfectly happy being their target. She's declined not only your invitation but mine as well, arguing that she'll never again have the opportunity to study Lethifolds up close. She truly is a scholar at heart,' said Arcturus, nodding approvingly.

'And what if they succeed?' Harry heard himself say, his mind still desperately trying to catch up.

'Miss Rose seems fairly confident, so I wouldn't worry about that. Then again,' he said, leaning back and furrowing his brow as if appraising his memory of the woman, 'the pack you managed to lure out seems particularly vicious. She'll know not to push the issue. And even if...' Once more, he looked up contemplatively. 'Well, she's no family of ours.'

Harry shuddered, despite the heat of the coals not five feet from his seat. 'Why didn't she tell me?'

'Oh, she was afraid you'd figure it out sooner or later and deprive her of her little project.'

'So _everyone_ knew it was Lethifolds and that it had been I who had summoned them?' asked Harry eventually, feeling both angry and ashamed.

'Well, everyone of importance, to be sure, meaning me, Miss Rose, and Dumbledore though, again, he has no conclusive proof. The Ministry is ignorant of our connection to your little pets, and I shall see to it that they don't burden themselves with that particular knowledge. I cannot completely exclude the possibility of some uniquely learned individual making an educated guess, seeing as our family has been linked to Lethifolds in ages past, but I don't see how that will present a problem for now. Curiously enough, even The League is completely in the dark about the mere possibility of wizards calling forth Lethifolds.'

'The League,' muttered Harry, feeling somewhat faint. 'Wait a moment! The old Defence Professor – didn't he quit to join the League hunting some pack of Lethifolds in the Caribbean?'

His eyes widened as he beheld his Grandfather's rather cheeky grin. 'Very astute, Harry. Professor Dilybbles is a fine wizard, so I'm sure nothing...unfortunate will happen during his travels. Eventually, I'm sure the situation down there will cease to be of concern.'

Harry nearly jumped from his seat, staring at his grandfather. 'So you know how to banish them again?'

'Naturally.' With a grandfatherly smile, Lord Black added, 'Not all of us try some of the most volatile magic the western world has ever seen during the course of a _spar_ just to impress their teacher, or rather, I suspect,' he leant back, raising an eyebrow at Harry with palpable amusement, 'a beautiful woman.'

Harry looked away to hide the blush he fought with all his might. 'So you knew about that, too.'

'Yes, Harry.'

Harry coughed a bit, trying to regain a bit of posture. He failed. 'I feel like an idiot, Grandfather!'

'As well you should, my son. As well you should...'

'There's, ahem, there's more.'

'Yes?'

'I, er, may have,' Harry spoke faster now, each word following the last just a little quicker, 'offered myself up as their prize to pay for their compliance with the contract I wrote in the runes,' he finished, looking down, his head steaming.

'Really, Harry. And need I tell you what a brilliant idea that was?'

'No, Grandfather,' he responded meekly.

'Did you attack the Lethifolds in the forest?' Arcturus asked sternly.

'What?' blurted Harry, eyes bulging again. But then again, it seemed like his grandfather knew just about everything. With a sigh, he said, 'No, I...We just fled from the glade. I only cast a bit of light, we never even saw them.'

'Then you're still perfectly safe. Despite your rather dire lack of common sense, as long as you don't actively seek to harm them, the Lethifolds won't attack those of our name. And that,' he concluded, apparently aware of the surge of fear that shot through his grandson, 'includes you, as you _are_ my heir. Nevertheless, precisely _because_ the magic of our family and not our blood is the deciding factor in this very matter, there are only two other students at Hogwarts completely safe from their terrible wrath, as I surely need not remind you. See to it the rest of our family stays safe, will you?'

'Yes, Grandfather.'

'You have two months to remedy the situation, but it will always remain your highest priority to keep the rest of our family from harm, do you understand me, Harry?'

'Yes, Grandfather.'

'Good. Now off you go. Go get a good night's rest.' The sunken figure behind the desk gifted him a small but sincere smile. 'I do not wish to see you in that state again.'

'Yes, Grandfather.' Harry stood up, bowing deeply to the man in front of him. 'Thank you, Grandfather.'

 _~BLVoD~_

The Lethifolds still haunted Harry's dreams, but, in the end, he managed to get a few hours of sleep before the elves woke him up. He dressed with a bit more care than the last two days, had his breakfast brought to him in the assembly room (Arcturus was entertaining some visitors from abroad), and even had a cursory glance at the Prophet.

The headline was: 'Winter Wonderland! The very best charms and potions for the snowy season.' Harry scoffed disdainfully. You would think there was something more important going on to print on the front page. Briefly, he scanned the margins and little articles cramped all around the idiotic article and its unnecessarily gigantic picture.

'Specialists researching weather … Danish Wizarding Parliament suspended … Head of Department facing inquiry about missing employees,' he read out. With a sigh, he handed Cranky the paper, who folded it nicely with a snap of his fingers.

'How long will Grandfather be hosting our guests, Cranky?'

'Cranky cannot say, Master Harry, but we are to prepare tiffin for you alone.'

 _Tiffin,_ Harry thought, wondering not for the first time just how old Cranky actually was. Hadn't he often enough told stories of his grandfather's youth? And Arcturus wasn't exactly in his younger days anymore, being 93.

 _No matter. So I somehow need to solve this whole mess as fast and safely as possible before Grandfather pulls the rug out from under me. Right...right! But two months is ages!_

Harry stared at the pristine crystal glass next to the fine silver goblet with the crest of House Black, his right hand playing with the immaculately polished sterling cutlery. _But maybe it wouldn't hurt to start early. Okay, so_ – _realistically_ – _I'll never get this done alone. I need help_ – _and fast! But everyone who might actually make some worthwhile contribution as far as information linked to my subject goes is right out of the question. I won't be able to hide much of anything when we start getting serious, so it'll have to be someone I can trust explicitly._

 _It should also be someone who can work with me at Hogwarts, as I cannot help doubting that it'll be so easy to solve this whole affair within the fortnight. That would naturally all point towards Aenor but, considering everything Grandfather's told me, she's bound to decline as long as my personal health isn't in any danger, which, Grandfather seems to think unlikely._

 _But I can't just let it all unfold, can I? Someone is bound to blunder, eventually, and that someone_ will _die – horribly._

'And it will be your fault,' a soft voice seemed to whisper in his ears.

 _The siblings?_ Harry mused with forced calm, supporting his head with his right hand, watching the silver knife being bending around the fingers of his left. _No, I don't think so. Leo can be a bit reckless whenever his enthusiasm wins over, and Amy...just no!_

For a moment, Harry entertained himself with the idea of opening up to Hermione, explaining how he'd summoned a pack of bloodthirsty nightmares in the forest with forbidden dark magic. He couldn't help himself and chuckled a bit, imagining her expression.

 _The idea of admitting Draco into my confidence is simply ludicrous. So that leaves two people..._

With a groan, Harry got up, massaging his temple. 'Cranky, I'll be receiving a visitor today, so please prepare lunch for two.'

'As you say, Master Harry.' The elf bowed stiffly.

 _Right, no time like today. Merlin, this is going to be awkward..._

Harry walked up towards his dressing room, selecting an unimposing but conservative robe of dark blue and a fine black cloak, making sure that the rest of his appearance was in order.

Eventually, he made his way, not towards the visitor's entrance, the foyer, or even the sitting room, but towards the only fireplace he knew to be truly safe. To his relief, the small study of his grandfather was empty, and so he entered, halting in front of the hearth, his hesitant fingers fumbling in the little box on top of the mantle.

He averted his head as the fire sprang to new life with emerald ferocity.

Closing his eyes, he dug through his memory until, with one last sigh, he mumbled a very special address, stepping into the flames.

And then the world spun.

A few moments later, he opened his eyes again, finding himself in a cosy lounge that had, for his personal taste, a bit too much Muggle influence. Harry dutifully removed the soot from his clothes and boots before he smartly stepped onto the bright orange carpet.

'I'll be there in a second!' a pleasant, female voice called from the room next door.

With a blank expression, Harry's eyes lingered on both the television and the stereo.

Hasty footsteps, and then a delicate woman in her mid-thirties wearing Ministry robes entered the room. Whomever she had been expecting, it definitely hadn't been him, and Harry couldn't blame her as she accidentally dropped the earring she had been fiddling with, her golden eyes widening.

'Goodness me, Harry! Is everything alright? Has something happened?' she asked in a hushed voice, shutting the door with a swift flick of her wand.

'I am sorry to disturb you like this, Amaryllis,' he greeted her formally, inclining his head. 'But I have need of your daughter.'

The woman – Amaryllis – blinked. Then, apparently overcoming her daze, she bowed deeply in return. 'Please, take a seat. I'll go get her immediately.'

* * *

 _ **AN:** Oh yeah, if you're having trouble understanding Arcturus' reasoning, wait until you see how everything plays out, that's all I can say. Also, even if he might've seemed like your kind, old gramps now and then, you really might want to be careful with that assessment._


	38. VoD: Premonitions II

**Premonitions (II)**

* * *

'What do you want?' demanded Tracey rudely, standing beside her mother and wearing a grumpy expression.

'Tracey!' Appalled, Amaryllis admonished her daughter with a soft clap on her shoulder, looking apologetic and embarrassed. 'I'm really sorry about this, Harry. It's just...' Her voice trailed off, and she looked around uncomfortably, casting her gaze on this machinery or that book, apparently hoping for help from the items of her household to explain the mindset of fifteen-year-old witches. 'Well, you know!' she said in a tone that clearly expected him to understand despite the rather meagre explanation. And he did – somewhat. 'Anyway, if you don't need anything, I suggest the both of you get going. I should've been at work ten minutes ago.'

'I'm sorry if my presence has caused you any inconvenience,' said Harry, inclining his head again ever so slightly.

'Oh, no! Don't be silly, Harry,' the woman returned, smiling warmly and waving her hand. 'Anyway, Tracey, I don't want to hear that you haven't been getting along with Harry. Do you hear me?'

'Yes, mum,' Tracey mumbled, nevertheless continuing to glare at Harry.

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Kissing her daughter on her forehead and patting her on the back so that Tracey had to take a few stumbling steps towards Harry in order to regain her balance, Amaryllis Davis waved at the both of them once more. 'I'll be telling your father that you're at a friend's, should you choose to stay at Harry's for a while. It's good to have seen you, in any case, Harry.' Still fumbling with her jewellery with one hand, but managing to expertly don a chic grey mantle with the other, she waved one last time, beaming at the both of them.

Then, with a pop, she was gone, and silence began to stretch uncomfortably between the two Slytherins like a rubber band waiting to snap.

It took half a minute of tension for Tracey to finally click her tongue, collapsing into a seat by the fire. 'What do you _want_ , Harry?' she asked again, though this time she seemed more resigned than angry.

'I need your help.'

'You need _my_ help?' she repeated disbelievingly. 'Couldn't you have asked Daphne, Hermione, Leo or – I don't know – your precious Professor Rose?' Her mention of Aenor was not so much dripping as leaking acid, Harry noticed.

'No. But I can't discuss it with you here; the matter is a bit...sensitive.'

'Oho!' she exclaimed in false jubilation. 'Am I to learn how exactly you messed up, then? Sounds like an epic pile of dragon dung if you have to come begging for my help!'

Harry decided to forbear from giving the first reply that sprang to his mind. Tracey lacking enthusiasm wasn't exactly unexpected, and he really did need her help. Considering that the whole disaster was indisputably his fault, and that he was effectively holding the entirety of Britain as hostage – by accident, he continued to tell himself – he took a deep breath before, taking a leaf out of his grandfather's book, he answered calmly, 'Quite.'

Tracey's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, and she huffed at him, crossing her arms again. 'Will this take more than a few hours?' she demanded.

'If you manage to help me solve this mess by Yule, I'm prepared to address you as "Tracey the Great" for the rest of my life,' he promised gravely.

Despite herself, Tracey grunted a bit in amusement. 'Right, so I better pack a few things, huh?'

Harry nodded.

'Fine! Wait here, and don't you fiddle with the electronics!' she snapped at him like a mother might at her rugrat of a child, jumping up and rushing out of the room.

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back in the seat, grabbing one of the magazines lying on the coffee table between the armchairs. As luck would have it, it was some Muggle magazine featuring a...person of incognisable gender with outrageous spiky hair and daring headlines such as 'The man who made Ecstasy!', 'Orgasm therapy' or 'Legal highs'¹.

Like a man hearing a ticking noise from within the envelope in his hand, Harry put the magazine carefully down again, deciding he'd suffered enough culture shock for the foreseeable future.

Tracey reappeared not long after that, dragging a black sports bag with the shadow image of a leaping cougar on it behind her. Seeing the wary look Harry gave the magazines on the table, she sniggered at him. 'Want to borrow some?'

'I'm good, thank you,' he replied hastily.

'Right, so where are we going again?'

'The mansion.'

'You're not going to ask me to work on my formal dancing, are you?' she asked suspiciously.

'No. I'm afraid dancing will be the least of our worries.'

'One upside already!'

With a sweeping gesture, Harry motioned for her to go first. 'Grandfather is receiving a foreign delegation. The study will be empty. After you,' he said politely.

'Right,' replied Tracey with a fearsome scoff. Still dragging her bag over the timber floorboards (and carelessly wrinkling a handwoven carpet in the process, making Harry wince a bit), she took a handful of Floo Powder from the polished bronze bowl and threw it into the fire with more gusto than strictly necessary. 'Wales, Black Mansion, master's study!'

Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. Then, with one last revolted look at the magazines on the table, he followed the angry witch before she could come up with some idea about how to cause trouble for him.

Stepping out of the fireplace, Harry's heart tightened painfully as he beheld Tracey squealing and laughing, excitedly hugging Minnie, who seemed equally ecstatic to welcome and serve her, though it was somewhat hard to tell with Minnie being spun around like one might see parents do their children, the elf feebly stammering her protests all the while.

'W-will Mistress be staying with us?' asked Minnie eventually, looking flushed but happy.

'We'll see,' replied Tracey with a grin. 'Come on, help me get situated. There's bound to be a few dozen rooms empty, right?'

Minnie nodded happily, dragging Tracey along and towards the guest wing.

'Why don't y-' started Harry, only to be interrupted by the door nearly slamming into his face. 'Right,' he muttered to himself. 'Pleasure to be of assistance.'

 _~BLVoD~_

'Please take a seat,' said Harry, gesturing towards the two leather armchairs that stood in the perfect centre of the otherwise empty chamber, an antique, cherry wood pedestal table with beautifully intricate carvings between them.

Tracey sat down with a derisive snort aimed at the furniture. 'Did you conjure those? They're not normally here, are they? And what are we doing in the duelling chamber, Harry? Do you want me to kick your ass?' she asked hopefully, fingering her wand.

'Er, no,' said Harry, trying to appease her by showing his empty hands. 'And my proficiency with Transfiguration is, as a matter of fact, just as advanced as McGonagall would have it.'

'Really?' she asked, looking at him sceptically.

'Really. Anyway, I need to...tell you a story.'

'You're joking,' she said, deadpan.

'I wish I were.'

And then, after serving both of them tea, Harry recounted the story of his last Yule break, mostly sticking to the truth, though he decided to gloss over some of the more...precarious talks he'd shared with Aenor. '...well, and that was when the ball started. You were there early, I seem to recall. Aenor left the very next day,' Harry concluded, taking a sip, but refusing to look at the witch next to him.

'Let me get this straight; you spent your entire last Yule break in this very chamber, scuffling with the teacher you totally have the hots for, enjoying romantic talks in her sole company in the fire-lit study by night? Oh, and you were totally alone the _entire time_?' she asked, aghast.

'I do not have the hots for her! Other than that, well, that's not how I would've phrased it, but more or less, yes,' said Harry, rubbing his eyes. He was getting a headache already.

But Tracey only snorted derisively again. 'Right,' she drawled, stretching the word as long as her breath could take it. 'And, I can't believe I'm saying this, you actually had the brilliant idea of using some untested, lethal spell on a sparring partner because you didn't want to lose?'

'If you put it like that, I guess it does sound a little...silly,' admitted Harry, his gaze riveted to his teacup.

'Silly,' repeated Tracey drily. 'That's not _exactly_ the word I was looking for, but yes; you're Britain's biggest dumbass – congratulations! So? I suppose you didn't just want to brag about your conquest, did you?'

'What conquest?!' barked Harry, finally losing his cool. 'I told you everything that happened!' Taking his head in his hand again, he sighed. 'Look, I didn't invite you over to fight, alright? I really need your help.'

'Well, with what?' Tracey demanded. 'So far, the only constructive thing to come of you dragging me here is that I got to see Minnie in private!'

'Yes, I apologise but it's all rather complicated.' Seeing no better way to proceed, he stood up. 'Have a look at this.'

'What?' she asked, slowly getting up and eyeing him suspiciously.

Harry gestured for her to follow, walking towards the pillar in the corner of the room.

'What happened to the marble?' asked Tracey when they were near, noting all the cracks that were the result of Harry's pent-up frustration.

'Nevermind the marble, but...well... _that_ ,' he said, pointing towards his folly.

'Runes,' said Tracey, frowning as she hunkered down to have a closer look. 'And that's your handwriting,' she stated, not even asking. Carefully, her hands swept across the script before she retracted them with a hiss. 'They're still active. Submission, Foe – I can't make out the others thanks to your terrible scrawl. Is this some kind of...curse or something?'

'Close – it's a contract,' explained Harry, observing her closely.

'A contract,' she murmured. 'Well, I'm not an expert, but it looks to me you set it for all eternity. So what's the problem?'

Harry closed his eyes, trying to ignore the wound Tracey's casual words had ripped open. 'It's...not supposed to stay for all eternity.'

'Why?' she asked, narrowing her eyes again.

'It's, well, it's part of the spell I used to sic Lethifolds on Aenor during our first spar, as a matter of fact,' he said blandly, this time yielding to return eye contact.

Tracey just stared back, her warm, golden eyes completely unmoving. 'Let me take back what I said, Harry. You're the biggest dumbass history has ever seen.'

'Well,' said Harry, scratching his neck awkwardly. 'I can't say you're entirely wrong.'

'No, you can't. But why the bloody hell did you use permanent ink then?'

'I didn't intend to! I...was otherwise preoccupied; my knee was nearly chopped off, and there were a good dozen curses flying over my head!'

'Oh, I see! That must be what they call tough love! So those are your Lethifolds devouring every living thing in the Forbidden Forest?'

'Yes.'

'And they're – what – still trying to off Rose?'

'Yes.'

'Brilliant!' shouted Tracey, looking, for the first time since his appearance in her living room, extremely pleased. 'Let them!'

'Er, even if I were prepared to accept that – let's say I do, just for the sake of the argument – then what?'

Tracey stood up, sighing wistfully. 'I see your point. The possible decimation of the entirety of Scotland might be a tad too high a price to pay for getting rid of Rose.'

'I say!' exclaimed Harry, looking slightly concerned at Tracey's vitriol.

'Shame, really a damn shame. So you want me to help you get rid of your runes?'

'Well, that would be a good start, yes! The spell was never supposed to last this long, I don't know what went wrong! They should've vanished again as soon as the spell ran its course, so I hope they'll disappear again when we get rid of this.'

'I suppose it's worth a try. Where did you get that spell, anyway? That's not something I would like in _any_ hands, to be honest.'

'I found it in-' began Harry.

'-the library!' finished Tracey exasperatedly. 'Figures! This is how the world will end, you mark my words; some bookish kid with bright ideas will see the world burn just because he thought the spell looked pretty and wanted to give it a try...'

 _~BLVoD~_

'So, do you have any ideas yet?' asked Harry neutrally, doing his best to keep the hopefulness from his voice.

'No, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you used the magical equivalent of an atomic bomb on Rose during a friendly training duel...'

'Well, she _did_ launch a barrage of semi-lethal spells at me,' mumbled Harry in his own defence, though the words felt a bit hollow – even to him.

But that was, apparently, not what had been on Tracey's mind. '...and the vile wench still lives! What more does it take?!' she raged, glaring at Harry as if it had been his fault that he didn't manage to finish her off.

Harry sighed, shoving the confit de canard away.

'Is Master Harry wishing for something different?' asked Minnie, immediately taking a step forward and looking worried. 'Is the food not to Master's liking?'

'No,' said Harry softly. 'I just don't feel like eating. The duck is great, Minnie.'

'You really don't want her dead, do you?' asked Tracey, looking rather serious all of a sudden.

'No.'

'Did you hook up with her, then?' Harry was about to make a joke of it, when Tracey unexpectedly jumped up, her chair hitting the floor behind her. 'Don't you dare do this to me, Harry! I might not have the luxury of leaving you to this mess, but you can damn well expect my "motivation" to take a serious hit if you treat me the same you do everyone else! Oh, you and Arcturus are well beyond lying – no doubt. But do you honestly think I'm stupid?! Do you think I don't realise when you try to steer the conversation, make light of a subject or leave some bits out?! I'm not Hermione, and I'm damn well not Daphne!' she yelled angrily, flinging her napkin to the floor.

Harry wiped his mouth with his own napkin, his expression conscientiously blank.

'That's my condition!' continued Tracey in a raspy voice, scant of breath from her tirade. 'You're either completely open with me, or you can rescue the stupid world all by yourself – your pick!'

At a leisurely pace, Harry poured himself another cup of tea. 'Alright,' he said eventually, not looking up. 'But I think you're being unreasonable, digging into my pers-'

'Did something happen between you and Rose?!' Tracey demanded stone cold.

'No.'

'But you were flirting with her?!'

Harry didn't answer, instead choosing to stir his tea.

'Right,' snorted Tracey with a leer. 'How long since you've been more comfortable with women?'

'Again, I don't see how this is relevant, but a few weeks into last summer break.'

Reluctantly, Tracey picked up the chair and sat down again. 'Sorry,' she grunted without sounding sorry at all. 'But I had to be sure you were being serious for once.'

Meeting her eyes, Harry couldn't resist replying, 'That's rich, coming from you.'

Tracey did have the grace to look a bit abashed at that, but Harry didn't feel like continuing anyway; he wasn't sure how long his temper would hold under these circumstances. It didn't help that Aenor _was_ a bit of an awkward topic for him – doubly so with Tracey. In all honesty, Harry had suspected Tracey's hate for their teacher to be part of her public persona, mostly because it would've been a reasonable trait to project, especially with Daphne around. Seeing her genuine hatred at display, Harry couldn't help but wonder if he was missing something. He needed time to think, and – more importantly – to not lose his cool with the only help he'd ever get.

'I suggest we go our separate ways for the rest of the day,' he proposed, neatly setting down his tea again. 'Tempers are running a bit too hot right now.'

Tracey didn't answer, poking around with her food, her head averted. He was already at the door when her voice reached out to him once more. 'What really happened between Prewett and Lucretia?'

Harry's hand gave an involuntary twitch, and he missed the door handle by an inch.

'Weren't they a love match?'

Slowly, regretfully, Harry looked over his shoulder. He nodded.

'So, he didn't _really_ kill her, did he?'

He felt trapped by those big, golden eyes that shone through the blackness like floodlights. 'He did...'

His mouth felt as if he'd taken a bite out of the Sahara, but those eyes, those damnable angry golden eyes were still accusingly directed back at him, demanding nothing but plain truth at last. He felt strangely disarmed by the witch he'd come to think of as his direct antithesis. He, Harry, was someone whose first instinct was to use others, by deception or otherwise, and on a daily basis, even those he held dear. Wasn't Daphne the perfect example of that? And she, Tracey, was someone who hated doing what she was forced to do.

'...in self-defence...'

Tracey sat unnaturally still, like a doe listening intently, making a decision. Remembering who he was talking to, Harry desisted, letting one last sigh escape his lips as he turned the handle.

'...because Grandfather had commanded her to strike back at Prewett in retaliation for Regulus.'

'His own daughter?' she whispered, her voice quivering a bit, one hand raised in front of her mouth.

Harry took a step outside of the room, nodding to the darkness in front of him.

Back in the small dining chamber, surrounded by chandeliers and their wavering light, he could hear Tracey snarling, 'And you made me...You and your _family_ make me sick, Black!'

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry couldn't find any trace of his unwilling helper for the following two days. As it was, the mansion felt lonelier and more desolate than ever, its ancient galleries and halls uncomfortably wide and gaping with Cranky his only – albeit very occasional – company. Even the busy noises from down below that heralded the upcoming ball only served to make Harry feel more detached from the rest of the world. The notion that something as trivial as a ball could still exist seemed surreal to Harry, and the images of an evening of light-hearted frivolity turned his stomach.

He spent most of his time in the duelling chamber, to a point that slightly worried his elf. So what if he'd chosen to spend the night there!

Blankly, Harry stared at the script on the floor. It was so familiar to him by now that he could recall even the tiniest part of its texture flawlessly within his mind. The downside of this was that the runes now appeared more and more often during his nightmares. In a strange twist, Harry was glad for his erratic sleeping schedule. He had noticed that he still sometimes felt disproportionately sleepy, so forcing himself to stay awake had the added benefit of not suffering nightly torture at least.

The alchemical approach had been a road to nowhere, he finally had to admit, seeing as no potion he could procure nor simple aqua regia had proven to be of any help. He wasn't a potioneer by any stretch, though, so maybe he was overlooking something? There had to be a way to remove them physically...

A cold draft made Harry shiver, and he drew the cloak he was currently misusing as a blanket tightly around him.

 _Maybe I should try melting it off?_ thought Harry with chattering teeth. _Damnable winter! Alchemical fire, perhaps? At least I'll have it warmer then._

For the third time this morning, Harry muttered the familiar spell to heat his clothes. He could, of course, at any time go and fetch some garment that had the charms weaved into its fabric, even the Muggle outfit he'd procured last autumn had them, but somehow, he couldn't tear himself away – somehow, he had the feeling that if he quit _now_ , even for a second, the breakthrough would elude him forever.

Yawning, he continued to stare at the runes, and at the books, and the pages, the words, the letters, the ink...until sleep finally claimed its fugitive and prize.

'You're a moron, Harry.'

Two lights were dancing above him. Numbly, Harry reached out to catch them.

'Ow, stop that! Wake up already!'

A bit of clarity finally flooded his consciousness, and Harry awkwardly sat up. His back hurt like hell, almost as if...he'd slept on cold marble or something. Opening his eyes for real this time, he noticed some sort of blanket in his lap.

Quizzically, he looked up at Tracey, who stood next to him. 'Blanket?' he mumbled, slow-witted.

'I don't suppose my mum will be very impressed with me should you freeze to death,' Tracey returned, rolling her eyes. 'Anyways, get up! I found something.'

'You have? Where?! I've been here the entire time, and I haven't seen you!'

'Well, why would you?' snapped Tracey irritably. 'You were here, and I wasn't in the mood to see – nevermind speak with – you. So I spent my time doing a bit of research in your library for a change, which is where I found this.' She held high an aged, yellowish booklet called _Le Goût de la Rune_.

'What's it say?' asked Harry, his voice rough and coarse.

'Are you sure you'll be able to understand my explanation yet?' she asked, raising her eyebrow at his squinted eyes.

'Yes,' he returned briskly.

Tracey shrugged. 'Well, the author proposes a method to overcome runic wards, still his work should be applicable here. His contemporary colleagues dismissed his ideas, going so far as ridiculing him publicly because serious wards could have as many arrays as your next novel, making it virtually impossible to cancel them out all at once. But that, luckily, won't be a problem here.'

'So?' asked Harry impatiently, rubbing his eyes.

'To make a long story short, you can negate each rune by writing their direct semantic counterpart on top of it. Trouble is, if you start or finish one layer of runes early or late, the whole thing might either blow up or change the array in some unpredictable way. Monsieur Gribouillis died when his house blew up a few months after publishing this, so we probably should be a bit careful.'

'But I wrote four lines!' protested Harry. 'How could I possibly write four lines of runes all at once and at the same speed?!'

'Well, firstly, you have me,' Tracey reminded him coldly. 'And then,' she held up both of her hands, 'we both have two hands, don't we?'

Harry stared at her, transfixed. 'You're joking!'

 _~BLVoD~_

But as it turned out, Tracey hadn't been joking. Identifying which runes had to be written over Harry's contract was done quickly and efficiently, even with Harry's insistence on double and triple checking everything.

The real problem, it soon became clear, was something entirely different.

'Your left hand is lagging behind again, Harry!'

Harry clicked his tongue in annoyance, but refrained from snapping back.

'You're still behind!' Tracey reminded him with more than a hint of impatience.

'Well, I'm ever so sorry!' spat Harry heatedly, flinging his paintbrush away. 'I've never written with my left in my entire life! Not everyone is ambidextrous.'

Tracey cleared her throat awkwardly. 'Yes, well, sorry. Come on, let's try again!'

This had to have been the strangest sort of training Harry had ever had to endure – and that was saying something. For two days, he'd done nothing but draw the four runes Tracey had looked up, familiarising his left hand with the movements, and despite how easy that sounded, it was hell for Harry; while calligraphy wasn't at all necessary for writing runes, any obvious error you made with the symbols could result in spectacular and often dire consequences.

And now, since yesterday, they had started to practise writing all four runes in synchronisation.

It wasn't easy.

Their first few tries had ended in a highly embarrassing mess of tangled limbs when either Harry had lost balance or Tracey had outpaced him so much their arms had crossed. Even now, one day later, Tracey was still having trouble adjusting to Harry's speed, and Harry was doing all he could to just draw the runes without some error that could later result in what the Prophet would undoubtedly call the 'Cataclysm of Caerphilly'.

Harry closed his eyes and drew a few calming breaths. 'Okay.'

Tracey just nodded, entirely focused on the bit of parchment between them that was a perfect mimicry of the real runes a few feet away, thankfully without any magic involved.

His right hand started writing the familiar rune corresponding to 'resistance' almost at once and without thought, but still, Harry had to pay close attention to his left, doing his best not to mess up the rune for 'feud' like he'd done the last few rounds.

Tracey had volunteered to write the inner circles, and it would fall to her to adjust the speed of her writing to Harry (as she would otherwise finish too soon).

Half-way through, when their arms nearly crossed once more, Harry was – just for a second – distracted by the graceful and meticulous movements of Tracey's slender arms. Cautiously looking up, he saw her whole face calm, maybe even serene, as if she were one with the writing that flowed so effortlessly from her hands. She looked so at odds with her usual self – either usual self, Harry corrected himself – that he couldn't help marvelling at the scene.

Then, quite abruptly to Harry, Tracey looked up. 'Well, that could've gone better, but at least we managed to finish for the first time.'

'Er, what?' Harry asked, blinking.

'The runes?' said Tracey slowly, looking at him suspiciously. 'You know, the very runes we've been at for two days now?'

'Oh, er, yes, of course.'

'Then let's take a break. I wouldn't want to get in the way of your frolicsome family lessons with Bellatrix,' she said, her tranquil expression finally breaking into the sneer she'd shown Harry so often these past days.

'Listen, you don't need to-'

'Nope, I'm gonna stop you right there. I'll help you, and that'll be it.'

Harry sighed, getting up and stretching a bit. Tracey had turned around so that he couldn't see her face. Deciding that there was nothing he could do, Harry took a step towards the door.

But then one thought that had gone on a rampage within his mind finally managed to find his way to his lips. 'Why do you help me at all?' he asked, turning around to peek at the still kneeling Tracey. 'I know you detest being here.'

Tracey didn't move or speak. It was only when Harry, with one last sigh of regret, had already turned around that he heard her soft whispering, almost as if she didn't want him to hear, 'Because I feel like I need to...'

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry kneeled down, his breathing ragged, weird and colourful lights dancing in front of his eyes.

'The spells can be a bit taxing, but your performance is just pathetic, Harry,' noted Bellatrix, who stood a few feet behind him in palpable disappointment. 'Get up and try again! Maybe you don't have enough power to kill them yet, but you should have enough control to cast the torture curse at the very least! Your spells might well be tickling hexes!

'You need to want it!' she hissed. 'You need to really, really mean it. Let it fill you, eat you, overcome you. Petty envy, greed, hatred, or fear – they're all equally good. Imagine something that ignites you with the passion to hurt, the desire to destroy. Potter Manor or anything else will do! Didn't you loathe those pathetic maids? Didn't you hate how they told you what to do day in and day out? Didn't you abhor their iron determination to bend you, to break you, to forge you into their tool? Immerse yourself in your rage, revel in the burning desire to inflict pain! I know you have it,' she said softly. 'We all have!

'And then, when the hate, the fear, the anger is too much to take, when you want nothing more than to wallow in their screams,' she whispered, eyes wide and pointing her wand. 'You simply let loose. _Crucio!_ '

Suddenly, without any visual warning, the last remaining pup let out a gut-wrenching yelp, its legs twitching wildly, its head shaking. It clawed at its own body, blood flowing from its muzzle until Bellatrix eventually decided she'd made her point. With an almost bored expression, she fired a blue spell at the whining doggie. 'Filthy cur, stop biting your tongue,' she snarled angrily. Only one moment later, when she turned towards him, her face was as neutral and intense as it was any other day, her anger and frustration already a thing of the past. 'Your turn!'

Harry lifted his wand, his eyes on the whining puppy that clawed at the back of the cage with bloody paws. He stared hard, aware of the beat of his heart, until his thoughts eventually cleared up, until his immediate feelings were nothing more to him than a useless appendage to be discarded at his convenience. Then, closing his eyes, he thought back, remembering the hate he'd felt back then. The frustration, the fear, the wrath, the confusion...and the spiteful, dastardly thoughts he'd nurtured in the innermost part of himself to defy his captors, to feel the satisfaction of striking back. It had started as thoughts of revenge back then, revenge for his parents, revenge for his incarceration, revenge for being treated like a shiny jewel to be shown around, to inflict the same amount of confusion, fear and frustration upon those who misused his name, his parents, his life – but that had only been when the truly vile dreams had started...

With a cold look, Harry aimed his wand. ' _Crucio!_ '

A red beam raced through the room, hitting the puppy on the back. It yowled timorously, but then it continued to claw at the iron cage with renewed vigour.

Bellatrix gave a shrug. 'Maybe you're just not cut out for it. Better stick to making Portkeys.'

'What do you expect from me,' spat Harry, gesticulating wildly, his mind still seething with indomitable rage. 'That I just brandish my wand and cry _Imperio!_?'

'That certainly would be a start,' retorted his aunt coolly. 'I suggest we lay off the Unforgivables for now and return to something you can actually _manage_...'

Cussing, Harry whirled around, kicking the door open and marching towards the stairs with a furious stride. Bellatrix, shrugging dispassionately, followed her nephew.

...and in the dark, the whelp, calmly resting on all fours, continued to stare expectantly at the arch both humans had just vanished through.

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry's lessons with Bellatrix came to a halt after that. While his aunt tried to shame him into resuming his training, Harry – for once – put his foot down and told her he needed a break until summer vacation. His tutor wasn't happy, but facing her resolute and angry nephew, she decided to let it go for now.

Currently, Harry was pacing through the duelling chamber, waiting for Tracey, who was presumably being waited upon by Minnie. He circled around the chamber restlessly, his mind still boiling, his fingers twitching, his mind screaming, demanding for him t-

 _Control_ , Harry thought forcibly, coming to a halt in the middle of the room. _Power of emotion is nothing without control. Emotions shall empower me, not direct me. Emotions shall yield to me, not dictate me. The essence of power is clarity. The power of clarity is mastery over myself. Power of emotion is nothing..._

He kneeled, making a conscious effort to breathe deeply, falling back towards the very first lessons Arcturus and Regulus had ever given him. Steadily, he felt his respiration and his thoughts calming down, but Harry pushed deeper still. He let go of his flashing thoughts, let go of it all – even his concentration and focus on his breathing. His limbs felt heavy, cumbersome, his skin felt ticklish – just from the soft breeze of the winter wind that reached him through the open window. He felt it on his skin, could smell the snow in the air, hear the elves busying themselves down below, even the smooth silk of his robes on his skin...

Later, much later, Harry finally opened his eyes, bemoaning the loss that came with the awakening.

With a jolt, he noticed Tracey, who sat on her haunches, huddled in the cold, a few yards in front of him, her large eyes gazing into his. 'I didn't want to disturb you,' she mumbled, looking away.

'I apologise,' said Harry, still revelling in the afterglow, and thoroughly enjoying his newfound balance.

'Rough lesson?' asked Tracey, standing up and patting some dirt off her clothes.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Harry nodded slowly.

Tracey was, by the looks of it, about to give another snarky response, but her lips moved without any words forming until, with a look of surprise, she said, 'Oh! Do you want to take the rest of the day off?'

'No, I'm better now, thank you,' he replied, standing up once he felt his legs again. 'Let's have another go.'

 _~BLVoD~_

Over the next couple of days, their rendition (or dance of fingers, as he'd jokingly called it once to Tracey's annoyance) steadily improved, with Harry making it a conscious effort to be as relaxed as possible, both while drawing the runes and with Tracey's occasional snappy comment. To his surprise, both seemed equally effective, as he learned that drawing with his left now went rather smoothly when he focused on emptying his mind and that Tracey seemed a bit flabbergasted whenever he'd made it a point to be polite and open towards her. Astonishingly, as long as he allowed Tracey to take the lead, she seemed quite capable to adjust herself to his pace, too.

'So, you prepared to call me Tracey the Great yet?' quipped Tracey, wiping her brow.

They had finally managed to both start and finish in sync two dozen times in a row, which had been their agreed upon goal before they'd dare to attempt the real thing.

'I'm prepared to keep my word, though I feel like that might take some explaining with Daphne.' To his complete and utter wonderment, Tracey gave an actual, bright, and – most astonishingly of all – genuine laugh.

'Wanna take a break and get something to eat? We should probably also let your grandfather know that this wing of the mansion might suddenly blow up, you know,' she said.

'Why though?' he said with a mischievous smirk. 'We've done it more than twenty times in a row; what's one last time?'

Tracey grinned approvingly. But when they stood up and walked over to the real and still very much active runes, Harry couldn't help but tense a bit, wiping a few strands of hair out of his eyes. Then, he kneeled, grabbing the brushes they'd prepared beforehand.

Tracey was looking back at him in question. After one last grim nod of determination as their cue, Harry and Tracey both lowered their brushes at exactly the same time.

It hadn't exactly been a joke, his earlier comment about the dance, reflected Harry as he winced a bit as all four writing utensils hit the runes, soaked in permanent ink of their own, and the dim light of the runes immediately flashed in an angry red. The patient, soft, yet daring strokes of his brushes, totally mirroring the movements of the witch opposite him in speed, really did feel like a dance, where precision, awareness, and trust were all necessary in equal measure to achieve any sort of successful performance.

As Harry and Tracey dipped their brushes for the first time in their four inkwells, the runes began to hum menacingly. Harry felt his throat go dry, but did not stop the movements that had become almost second nature by now.

Tracey was sweating, he noticed, but her graceful hands moved sure and steady nevertheless, her expression peaceful and calm, her breathing even and relaxed.

Not even half-way through, Harry's and Tracey's hands suddenly brushed against one another, but, strangely, their dance continued unimpeded. Harry, finally calming himself a bit, breathed deeply and relaxed as he gave in to their performance, releasing control at last...

...and only a few strokes after that, or so it seemed to Harry, it was all over.

'Well, that was easy,' said Tracey with an insufferably arrogant simper.

But Harry just chuckled, the brushes falling from both of his hands like swords after a long-fought battle. With a groan, he let himself fall back, closing his eyes. 'How long again until the runes should cancel each other out? They _will_ cancel themselves out, won't they?' he asked urgently.

'They should! We didn't blow up, so that's good news already! Not sure, the text said something about a few hours at most.'

'Oh. Well, that's alright then.'

'Harry?'

'Hmm?' he replied, still enjoying the cool marble, eyes closed.

'I need to go home to fetch a few things. I didn't really expect to stay this long. Can we go over right now? It's still early so my dad won't be back yet.'

'But the floor is so nice and cold...' he mumbled drowsily.

'You can have a bit of ice-cream from the freezer,' moaned Tracey in a way that suggested she was making a heavy concession. After a bit of silence, she added, 'But I, you know, don't feel very...comfortable in Arcturus' study...'

Harry's eyes suddenly sprang open, and he felt wide awake. Tracey was busying herself with the brushes, conscientiously packing both them and the ink into the box Aunt Narcissa had given him last year.

 _Did she really just say that?_

'Yeah, alright,' he answered casually, still staring at her back.

'Okay, then,' she returned lightly.

Harry eventually got up, helping Tracey pack the rest of the mess they'd strewn all across the room this last week. They made a bit of light talk on their way to the guest wing, though Harry still kept a very close eye on her. But Tracey seemed just the same as ever.

With amusement, he noticed that Tracey had chosen the principal guest wing, which offered, in addition to all the other accommodations of luxury, three _very_ generous bedrooms (though you had to open at least five doors to find the first). They usually reserved it for visiting dignitaries.

'Aiming high, are we?' he said with a bit of a grin.

'I'll grow into it, you know!' returned his petite companion, sticking out her tongue and vanishing behind the door, where the noises of very hectic packing could soon be heard.

It took her only a few minutes, though by the sounds of it she made a mess of at least four rooms in the meantime, but Tracey soon emerged with her gym bag slung over her shoulder.

'Ready!' she declared proudly.

The study was – unsurprisingly – empty, but now that Harry was paying careful attention, he noticed Tracey still looked rather relieved about that. Through the fire they went, arriving once again at the point where their collaboration had so unharmoniously started, just one week ago. For some reason, it felt a bit different to Harry this time around.

Shoving Harry in the general direction of the sofa, Tracey vanished through the door.

Once more, Harry's gaze fell on the magazines on the table.

'The house is, you know, warded against the Ministry's Underage Charm, isn't it?' he called in a loud voice.

'Of course, it is!' yelled Tracey from somewhere down the corridor. 'Mum did it when I was two, though Dad still doesn't have a clue. Why?'

Harry, with a wicked grin, whipped out his wand and levitated the magazines into the fireplace, where – mysteriously – a spontaneous fire consumed the whole stack in a blaze of purging glory.

'Nothing!' he shouted back in an innocent voice, smiling smugly at the pristinely clear and much improved table.

One moment later, Tracey arrived with two huge pints of Muggle ice-cream. With a wide grin, she tossed one at Harry from across half the room. He managed to catch it with both hands (it was huge!), though the same – sadly – couldn't be said about the spoon that hit him two seconds later.

Tracey laughed, jumping onto the couch and immediately tearing at the lid with an impatient, almost tormented look until the first spoon vanished in her mouth and she visibly slumped down, purring happily.

Harry still stared at the small bucket full of sugar in his hand.

'If you don't want it, I'll take it!' Tracey chipped in from the side in between two mouthfuls.

Hesitantly, Harry opened the pint and had a taste of the strange sweet that seemed to have some kind of cookies mixed in. Despite his misgivings, it really was rather good.

Tracey, in Harry's eyes finally revealing the true source of her demonic dexterity, offhandedly turned on the TV with her left, her right hand still shovelling industrial quantities of ice-cream into her mouth.

 _Is there such a thing as sugar poisoning?_

Without really looking, Tracey flipped through the channels.

'Stop!' shouted Harry urgently, slowly putting down his spoon.

'Wha?!' Tracey managed to ask with anything but ladylike dignity. He hoped she knew better during the ball, at least.

'Isn't that London?' he said out loud, his eyes again glued to the scene on the screen.

It was London. A panicked, female reporter stood in front of a bank building, her long, glossy brown hair blowing worryingly horizontally in the wind and heavy snow drifts. All sorts of rubbish could be seen flying through the air behind the terrified woman, including a pram and a rather large, metallic trash can.

'I repeat, some kind of unforeseen storm has hit London city! Despite the locals enjoying a rather sunny day in the snow not one hour ago, we are currently detecting wind speeds of more than fifty miles per hour with a tendency to rise! We cannot say why th- AHH!' The woman gave a fearful shriek as a bicycle soared over her head, only to crash into the building behind her a moment later, glass falling like hail.

'Get the hell outta here!' someone yelled in the background.

The picture grew hectic, unsteady, until two pairs of running feet were all that could be seen.

Then, a blindingly bright flash of purple light, instantaneously followed by deep, abyssal rumbling. One last shriek – a spray of red snow – and the channel turned to static.

Harry jerked his head around to look towards his left, where Tracey's eyes were so wide they were in danger of falling out. In the silence, the sound of a spoon hitting the floor was all that could be heard.

* * *

¹ The provided titles were the genuine headlines and hooks of a magazine popular in the UK, December issue 1994, just in case you're wondering if people back then read the same drivel they do today. Yes, they did.

* * *

 _ **AN** , Alternative title: **Oops (II)** _

_**AN2** : In case you haven't noticed; VoD actually stands for ' **V** hy you really sh **o** uldn't mess with **D** ark Magic when you've got no clue what you're messing with'._


	39. VoD: A slice of hell

_This chapter is not a very happy read._

 _You still remember this is rated M? Okay then._

 _This one time , I'll have the ANs before the chapter, because they'd take away from the chapter otherwise. If you don't feel like it, just skip them._

 _ **AN1, Pairings:**_

 _I know you guys are passionate about your favourite pairings, and that's totally cool! You're free to root for them every chapter, you can even complain to me about that total floozie D/A/T/A/H. But there will be chapters exploring every major character in the story, and that does in no way translate to Harry making steaming hot love to everyone I devote a chapter of character progression to. I mean, there'll be Bellatrix chapters and – Jesus! – there'll be chapters about Arcturus... Please don't make this awkward for me._

 _ **AN2, Tracey (** **no spoilers** **):** _

_Despite mainly starring as Daphne's sidekick during the first year, Tracey IS a member of the main cast of characters. In all honesty, I'm rather amused you honestly expected me to insert a simpleminded comic relief character._

 _That being said, I can see that her usual goofy attitude is extremely at odds with her behaviour that last chapter, or maybe rather her aggression. I've written quite a few PMs regarding this issue, and I would like to point your attention towards the fact that the last chapter did, as a matter of fact, only display the second genuinely private conversation Tracey has ever shared with Harry (the first one being in ch.9)._

 _Still, even during other times (Tracey's talk with Daphne during Yule; the entirety of ch.14 / Tracey's and Harry's brief conversation near the finale of the first year; middle part ch.21 / Daphne's brief flashes of thoughts regarding her friend on her birthday; near the end ch.27 / or even Tracey's strangely insightful remarks after they get Leo's book; end of ch.36) it becomes rather clear that Tracey is at least as two-faced as Harry. Even Daphne called her out on it (ch.14)._

 _Daphne has so far been a prominent PoV featuring her best friend, and though Harry's perspective on Tracey has always been the most controversial one so far (ch.9 and the recent ch.38), you might be surprised to find that the primary character to feature the most of Tracey has, by far, been Hermione (especially ch.8 and all chapters from 19-25)._

 _Now, thinking about it, you might notice Hermione and Daphne actually have quite a lot in common – or rather, they feature a lot of diametrically opposed character traits._

 _- **Hermione:** exhibit a is studious; sometimes comes off as meek; not very good with people; tends to favour approaches of an academic nature and planning in general; extremely uneducated regarding Wizarding Britain (and wishes to learn); and lacks (both mundane and magical) people skills to properly function in pure-blood society (especially at the beginning and mainly because of a lack of knowledge)_

 _- **Daphne:** exhibit b is a definitely a practical person; rude, outgoing and absurdly emotional; tends to favour direct approaches; well-educated regarding Wizarding Britain (not that she particularly cares); but still rather poorly equipped to function in pure-blood society (mainly because of her conduct and temper)_

 _They're almost like evil twins! (No, they're not.)_

 _Now, what might that have to do with the problem at hand? Well, as I said, both Hermione and Daphne are the characters who interact the most with Tracey, especially during their first year. Just from Leo's comments about Tracey and Harry hiding their true thoughts most of the time (ch. 35) and our previously gathered knowledge about Tracey, however, we can already see that the half-blood Tracey is definitely a lot more Slytherin (and – ironically considering her origin – well-suited to blend well with pure-blood society) than both pure-blood Daphne and Muggle-born Hermione. In light of that, how adequate do you believe either Hermione's or Daphne's perspective are on a player clearly above their level of craftiness? The only thing (except their drastically different connection to Harry) both witches have in common is their disinterest/inability to play the game of thr...politics._

 _And now full circle!_

 _Is Tracey's behaviour extremely different from most previously given descriptions? Hell, yes!_

 _Remembering that the last episode is from Harry's perspective, is this change in attitude still so very surprising? Hmm..._

 _Does that mean Tracey is actually putting up a show at Hogwarts, which includes misleading Hermione and even Daphne? Yes, and that's exactly the point Harry (last chapter), Leo (35), and even Daphne (14) make._

 _Honestly, there's a lot more in there, but I only wanted to help all of those who have some trouble coming to terms with this second take on the goofy and approachable ninny._

 _The third year will, in addition to exploring the Lestranges, actually shed some light on her peculiar behaviour,_ especially _her occasional aggression towards Harry._

* * *

 **A slice of hell**

Like mice facing a cat, Harry and Tracey sat transfixed in front of the artificial snow flurry on the screen. Terrifying moments of silence trickled away until another Muggle in a boring, grey suit appeared on screen, stammering about technical difficulties, his frantic eyes darting to something behind the camera every once in a while.

'Er, Harry?' asked Tracey in a voice even more high-pitched than usual.

'Yes?'

'That lightning looked a little bit like...'

'That's what I thought as well.'

'No, they couldn't...Shouldn't they...But the runes!' she stammered insistently. 'We did it, didn't we?! We won!'

Harry didn't answer.

'A-anyway, they shouldn't be able to get down to London that fast, should they?' she said, though Harry wasn't quite sure who she was trying to convince.

'Our library said that Lethifolds latch onto winds when travelling larger distances. They can also literally ride lightning...'

'But even thunderclouds don't move at more than thirty or forty miles per hour!' Tracey babbled with manic defiance.

'Currents in the upper troposphere can easily go far beyond one hundred, though,' elucidated Harry dejectedly.

'But why London!?' cried Tracey, jumping up, her eyes wide with fear. 'If those...no. That can't be the pack from Scotland. Wouldn't they attack Glasgow or Edinburgh even if they were...suddenly...free to move as they pleased...' Despite Harry's earlier doubts about the possibility, Tracey's eyes actually widened even further. 'Salazar, no!'

'Well,' croaked Harry, trying to ignore the feeling of his collar strangling him. 'Everything I've ever read about them warned of their insatiable, voracious nature.'

With a mad cackle of desperation, Tracey collapsed onto the sofa as if all the bones in her body had suddenly vanished. 'London has more than ten times the population of Edinburgh or Glasgow,' she whispered.

Harry didn't answer. Instead, he suddenly sprang up, running over to the cloakroom, grabbing some random black cape.

'Where are you going?' asked Tracey with a note of urgent panic. 'You're not going there, are you?'

For a second, Harry looked over his shoulder. 'Daphne,' he said simply.

Most uncharacteristically, Tracey let loose a stream of malicious cursing. 'I'll come with you.'

'Wait, what?! No! This is dangerous, you can't come with me!'

'Daphne is my best friend,' hissed Tracey, grabbing a cloak of her mum's that made her look even smaller than she really was. 'Are you really going to tell me that I'll have to wait here while you pose at playing prince charming?!'

Harry turned around, drawing his wand. Tracey looked determined, but your average bit of grit wouldn't suffice any longer. 'Have you ever seen a man being torn limb from limb, Tracey?' he inquired casually, his voice smooth. 'Have you ever heard a man plea for release from his suffering; ever heard the wailing of the withering; smelled the stench of death and the dying?'

Tracey took three steps back, looking faintly green. 'N-no... But I'll come with you whatever you say to scare me!'

'Are you prepared to ignore wounded and dying children?'

'W-what?' she asked, now definitely looking sick.

'Tracey, I'm not horsing around. I'm going to Daphne's place, and I'm going to get Ophala, Daphne and Tori out of there – full stop. So, are you prepared to ignore any cry for help, be it magical or Muggle?'

She looked disgusted, sick, but even now he could see the resolute glint in her eyes.

Harry rubbed his eyes in annoyance. 'I'll take you with me on the condition that you'll do as I say, Tracey, _whatever_ I say.'

'Fine!' she snapped back, pulling out her own wand. 'But how do we get there?'

'That can be easily arranged, but first things first. Pull up your hood! I'm not going to be seen with you wandering around the place.' Rummaging in some other cloaks of Mr Davis', Harry soon produced a lighter. With a look of concentration, he brought it over to the coffee table.

'Cranky!' barked Harry to the air, not looking up from the item in his hand when the ancient creature appeared before him half a second later.

'Master Harry called?' asked Cranky without so much as dignifying his surroundings with a glance.

'Has Ophala's family arrived at one of our mansions? Or called?' Harry asked urgently, fingers stroking the lighter.

'Nobody has arrived within the last few hours, Master,' the elf replied evenly.

'I see. Please go back for now and prepare accommodations and...medical necessities. Contact me as soon as you hear from them.'

'At once, Master Harry.' With a low bow, the elf disapparated.

'What are you doing?' asked Tracey curiously, despite the pressing urgency of the situation.

'Be quiet for a second,' replied Harry, trying not to sound impatient as he bent closer over the lighter, eyes squinted. 'I've only done this once, and the distance is a lot bigger this time...'

He closed his eyes and brought his wand towards the little lighter, mumbling under his breath. To her credit, Tracey managed to stay completely silent for the whole four minutes of what must have seemed like inane ramblings. Eventually, he opened his eyes again, scowling in annoyance.

'What?' demanded Tracey.

'A lot of people have raised wards to protect their properties, and Floo is down. They are obviously under the impression there's some kind of...terrorist attack or something. I can't go through them all. We'll have to drop off in Muggle London.'

If Tracey had any questions about how he knew this, she didn't say so. She simply nodded, holding her wand just a little tighter.

' _Portus!_ ' He finally tapped the lighter, and it immediately lit up with a cyan hue.

Tracey looked apprehensive. 'Right,' she muttered, looking only mildly surprised at the lighter Harry was now silently levitating. 'All right. Let's do this!'

Harry, the Portkey smoothly revolving above his right hand, held out his left for Tracey to take. 'Let's go.'

Tracey gingerly took his hand, and immediately afterwards, Harry cancelled his spell, and the lighter landed in his palm, just as he subtly tapped his cape with his wand. The moment the metal made contact with his skin, the world turned, compressed, blurred – and with the ensuing jarring whistle, they were gone.

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry landed heavily on the cobbles, and he nearly lost his balance trying to keep Tracey from falling over. The Portkey had been rough, rougher than any Harry had ever ridden, even those all the way into the Outback. Dragging the still wheezing Tracey into the shadow of the base of the ruinous statue, he lifted his wand, his eyes alert and scanning the vicinity.

Thick, biting smoke billowed all over the place, with towers of ash rising like infernal spires above faint glows of red and orange in the distance. Wind howled, assaulting them with greyish snow and the stench of sulphur, and – very occasionally – with the brief, muffled and often terribly warped cries and shouts of some poor sod. Thirty yards was the total extent of anything resembling visibility, except for the extremely prevalent strokes of purple lightning flaring up through the hellish haze – and the fires.

It had been less than fifteen minutes since the interruption of the broadcast, and the place looked like a battlefield of nightmares.

'Where are we?' whispered Tracey, wiping her mouth. Harry was glad that she had the common sense to keep her voice down. 'Weren't we going to London?'

'Hard to recognise, isn't it?' he said bitterly, his eyes resting for a second on the overturned bus that had crashed into a line of standing cars. He thought he could hear whimpering. 'Welcome to Charing Cross,' he said darkly, pointing at the fallen equestrian monument in bronze Tracey was cowering behind.

'No...!' said Tracey in a low voice, her eyes, too, on the wreckage of cars and men.

'We need to get going,' said Harry grimly. With a flick of his wand, he cut two long slices off his dark cape, handing one to Tracey. 'Tie this in front of your mouth and nose. It'll make breathing a bit easier.'

'What now?' asked Tracey in a muffled voice, still fiddling with the fabric.

'First rule: be extremely cautious. And by that I mean you'll hex anyone who approaches us after I call for them to stop. People will be mad with terror. Secondly, we'll try to keep away from any possible shelter to avoid detection and making a scene. That means we'll have to give all shopping centres and public buildings as wide a berth as possible.'

'And subways,' Tracey threw in.

Harry looked at her, surprised. 'And subways,' he concurred. 'From this point forward, don't concern yourself with the Statute of Secrecy. If any Auror should prove mentally deficient enough to try arresting us in this mess, you'll put him out from behind. Understood?'

Tracey gave an obdurate little jerk of her head as a reply.

'Good. And don't call me by name. I'm Enzo, you're...Victoria.'

Tracey groaned. 'Do I really have to trade one Essex girl name for the next?'

'Don't be ridiculous,' said Harry absent-mindedly, on the look-out for any sign of movement in the blizzard. 'You're neither blonde nor do you have quite the- Anyway, let's get going!'

Unaware of Tracey's very pointed glare, Harry grabbed her sleeve, helping her to her feet. 'Come on, this way!'

They had barely made it forty feet when Harry froze. Then, without a warning, he threw himself behind the overturned bus that lay deserted, pulling Tracey down with him. Not far at all and to the west, short bursts of cracks could be heard through the gale. They sounded a bit like firework – except that they weren't.

Without moving an inch and both holding their breath, they waited until the dull bangs and cracks died down, Tracey pressed against his side.

'That's the embassies,' hissed Tracey into his ear. 'Couldn't you have dropped us off further south? This area is usually swarming with police and bigwigs!'

'Couldn't,' whispered Harry, peering into the haze. 'All the wards are running interference, but Charing Cross is an emergency site. Let's cross the river further down. The car ways should be empty by now.'

'You mean the road bridges?' asked Tracey, looking around nervously.

But Harry didn't answer.

'Har-, I mean, Enzo?'

Hesitantly, Tracey took a peek around Harry's other side. A very small arm, smaller even than Tracey's, could be seen protruding from under the coachwork.

'Come on.' Gruffly, Harry dragged Tracey, who was gawking at the arm as if she'd never seen one in her entire life, away from the bus.

Still crouched down, they dashed from cover to cover. The icy wind felt like needles on their skin, soughing through the cracks of the ruinous, crashed cars, the eerie wailing of the dead machines their loyal companion.

They had to take detours, a lot of them; fierce dust devils were hurling street signs, glass and sundry other deadly projectiles across their route, and at other times, Harry didn't want to wander near particularly important places, like the Muggle government.

They finally spotted the first living beings around the Victoria Tower Gardens – a giant murder of crows; hundreds and hundreds of crows, a swarm like nothing Harry had ever seen before. Like an ever-changing ball of black feathers, they hovered over the park, croaking excitedly, a few dozen lunging at something on the ground every other second. Harry had a very good idea what enraptured them so.

'Are those _people_?' asked Tracey, her small hands gripping his arm.

'Not anymore,' replied Harry neutrally.

'B-but, the Lethifolds would've...they would've...'

'Get a grip!' said Harry, shaking her out of it. 'I believe the pack flew from north to south over the city. Those are...were Muggles. They probably died from cardiac arrests.'

'Cardiac arrest?'

'No Occlumency, remember? That pack is strong enough to overwhelm a squad of Aurors! What do you think will happen to Muggles exposed to their mind attacks?!'

'S-something like that, perhaps?' whispered Tracey in an even more pronounced tone of horror, pointing to the city-side of the park. There, a lone man was shuffling across the street. It might have seemed like a scene of wonder – but it was all wrong, so terrifyingly wrong. The man was still clutching his briefcase, still wearing his navy blue suit, as he slowly hobbled towards the next door, leaving a deep trail in the snow behind. But his entire _second_ arm was missing, as something seemed to have taken a savage bite out of his shoulder. Without slowing down, he crashed against the wooden entrance, eliciting a brief scream from within the small restaurant. The man in the suit gave a jerk, as if suddenly awake, and with blood curdling ferocity, he started hammering against the door with beastly brutality, completely disregarding his increasingly bloody knuckle.

Harry watched coldly from across the park.

'We need to do something!' hissed Tracey as the man, to the obvious horror of those who had barricaded themselves within, finally struck through the door with his bloody stump.

Harry just stared.

'Please!' begged Tracey, tightening her hold on his arm.

With a sigh, Harry carefully aimed his wand.

His Severing Charm flew two hundred yards across the park, hitting the man in the neck. He – it – gave one final shudder, and then collapsed like a building, joint per joint.

'I-Is he-'

'He was dead already. No mind dwelt within that body. Come on, we're getting closer.'

Grimly, they proceeded further south, flitting from cover to cover, heads down.

Glimpsing around a corner, Harry and Tracey both jumped when they saw the people next to the street, sitting on benches, still leaning against buildings, huddled in groups – all of them almost lovingly wrapped in a thin blanket of grey snow. With bizarre curiosity, Harry nudged a policewoman, but the young lady, despite her breath condensing in the frosty air, just stared straight ahead.

'This is horrible!' whispered Tracey.

Harry couldn't help nodding. But wherever the minds of these people now dwelt, it probably was a better place than London City.

'Ever been to Pompeii?' asked Harry in a hoarse voice as they finally reached Vauxhall Bridge, ignoring the burning in his throat. The entire construction was packed with all manner of Muggle transportation devices – machines still running – drivers and passengers alike still staring ahead at the traffic. Some gaped endlessly into the thunderous sky, and a few rare individuals were actually in the process of leaving their vehicles with a look of fear. But they were all petrified by what they had witnessed, all unmoving, all – Harry had little doubt – irrecoverable.

'Please don't joke about this!'

Similar to black shadows in a world of grey, they scurried across the bridge towards the source of the lightning storm that bombarded the larger buildings like divine retribution. The road was alive with the humming of the machines. The people, however, were frozen in family disputes, frozen watching the sky, frozen complaining about the traffic – but all of them seemed like they could spring up any second, either to pounce on them or to continue their inconsequential lives as if nothing had happened. Harry wasn't quite sure which he would've found more disturbing.

There were dozens of fires on this side of the Thames, and sirens angrily devoured every sound like the glorious trumpets of Judgement Day, be it footsteps, desperate cries for help, or even the occasional flame-cut building tumbling down.

Acrimoniously, Harry tightened the fastening of his cape, holding his freezing hand in front of his eyes to navigate the snowstorm. About one mile further south-west, a peculiar round gap split the sky. But when Tracey pointed this out, maybe in the hope of finally receiving some good news, Harry's face only darkened further.

'What?' asked Tracey, obviously worried by his lack of positive reaction.

'Let's go over there, and then you'll see.'

Head ducked, Harry crept across the street, hiding under the ruins of some still smouldering shop that creaked with every howling flurry rattling the derelict building. A pack of ravens perched on top of a flagpole next to the singed hoarding, the cheery advertisement still displaying its proud promise of a beautiful day.

When Tracey caught up, he pointed at the gap in the clouds. And yet there was no gap. Instead, a treacherously weedy-looking landspout swept across the city, picking up trash, bodies and smaller cars alike, hurling it all a hundred feet into the air.

'Still want to go there?' asked Harry succinctly.

Tracey shook her head. The biggest of the ravens gave a bellowing croak and took flight, grazing Harry's head with its massive wings. Startled, Harry was about to turn around when a hand fell heavily on his shoulder.

'And vhat do we haf here?'

From the corner of his eye, he could see a man in a heavy leather coat shimmering into view, his dishwater blond hair a tangled mess, curly moustache missing a bit of its tip.

'Death and devastation everyvhere, and who do ve find? A Black.'

The man gripped him by the scruff of his neck, lifting him as easily as Harry might a book. His other shovel-like hand closed painfully around his right wrist until, with a yell, Harry relinquished hold of his wand.

'Who's your chum, Black?' the Auror asked, towering over Tracey like a terror bird, Harry still struggling in his grip.

'Vik-Vikt-Argh!' Harry cried out as the man pinned his arms behind his back, his paw easily holding both of Harry's wrists.

'Both hands vhere I can see them, Viktor! Unless you don't mind me breaking your friend's arms too.'

'Sir, are...are you an Auror? My name isn't really Viktor, that's just something Black made me say in case we got caught!' said Tracey, offering her wand to the man, her head lowered apologetically.

'Are you insane?!' yelled Harry.

'Oho? Maybe I should take you to the colonel as vell!' The man reached down to snatch the presented wand. 'Vhat's your name, boy?'

'It's not Viktor...' muttered Tracey with an insecure grin as the giant's parched hand closed around her wand. '...because I'm a girl, you twat!' With devilish precision and all her might, Tracey viciously kicked the momentarily distracted man between his legs. A sickening crunch, a yelping gurgle, and the man sank to his knees. Harry, cradling both of his arms, back-pedalled over the snow-covered pavement, away to not get squashed by two hundred pounds of falling muscle. With a loud thud that seemed to further anger the few still remaining ravens, the man fell over and threw up.

'Bastard,' muttered Tracey darkly, snatching her wand and stunning the Auror. 'See?' she said with a cocky grin, one foot on the unconscious giant. 'You should be glad you brought me!'

'Don't be daft!' shouted Harry angrily. 'Aurors always work i-'

A bolt of red hit Tracey from behind, felling her like a hollow willow.

Swearing madly, Harry threw himself behind the fallen Auror. He tried to close his hand around his wand that had luckily rolled right in front of his feet, but a burning knife of pure agony raced up his arm as he moved his fingers, and he nearly dropped it again, yelping in pain.

A curse raced over his head, crashing into the ruin behind him with an ominous groan, sending bricks flying everywhere.

 _I don't have time for this! I need to get Tracey, Ophala and the rest and get the hell out of here!_

Another hex slammed into the building behind him, and this time the shrapnel caught him around the left side of his head, throwing Harry to the ground with another muffled yell.

Gingerly, Harry brought the hand that felt a bit less like a mess of splinters to his left ear. Harry's stomach turned as his fingers didn't find anything and came away with sticky, warm fluids, and he had to look away, fighting down the vomit.

Grasping, Harry's vision began to blur as the third spell missed the unconscious Tracey by an inch, exploding somewhere in the snow behind the shop like fireworks on New Year's Eve.

'NO!'

With a battle cry of rage, Harry took his broken right wrist into his left hand, averted his eyes...and squeezed.

The pain was unimaginable, but Harry bit his lip until he could taste the blood. Spitting out, he levelled the wand in his shaking left hand at his wrist. Bandages spun up his lower hand, coiling around his wrist. Harry accidentally bit his tongue to keep himself from screaming out, retching a bit more as copious amounts of blood entered his windpipe.

The world swam before his eyes, and – for a few seconds – Harry gaped stupidly at the colourful lights that flew over his cover. Another loud bang brought him back to the present, and he levelled his wand with his rudimentarily restored hand at his throat.

Focusing his will as best he could, he thought, ' _Anapneo!_ '

The effect was immediate, and Harry drew two deep breaths before he shifted his wand until, with a complicated bit of finger work, it aimed at both of his wrists. ' _Emendo!_ '

A brief, disgusting crack forced Harry to take another forceful gulp, but when he gave his wrist a reluctant and very gentle shake, everything seemed to hold – for now.

It took Harry a second to reorient himself, but that was a second the steadily approaching Auror did not seem willing to give up. He jumped over his colleague, lunging at Harry with a fierce snarl. Harry, startled by the events he still couldn't quite follow, had jumped up out of fright, which was exactly why the fierce hook only hit his chest. The force of the strike slammed him into the building behind him, and his left leg got caught by the yard sign, twisting completely the wrong way. Before his attacker could follow up with any spell that would seal his defeat, Harry weakly raised his wand, still dazed, and concentrated fiercely on the only spell left on his mind, ' _Invoco Noctem!_ '

From one second to the next, the whole area was doused in thick darkness. Harry, finally gathering his wit and gritting his teeth, crawled a few yards to his left. A Blasting Curse hit the spot he'd been cowering at not a second later.

The Auror had – amazingly – managed to take cover behind a still running luxury car despite the total darkness, reciting at least three incantations every second, desperately trying to dispel Harry's charm. Harry, wordlessly silencing himself with a flick of his wand, dragged his body to the man and sent him to the floor with one last nonverbal Stunning Spell.

Wheezing, Harry lay on the floor for a few minutes, desperate not to pass out. When the world finally stopped spinning like mad, he pulled himself up, pushing his body against the car. One leg more or less completely useless by now, he limped towards Tracey, disregarding the expanding darkness that by now shrouded at least half the city block. To his immense relief, Tracey seemed to have miraculously escaped any shrapnel or stray spell.

' _Rennervate!_ '

Her eyebrows merely quivered for a few moments, but then, her golden eyes flew open. Harry was impressed when she didn't cry out or attempt to move in the darkness.

'It's alright,' he mumbled, tapping her shoulder with his throbbing right hand.

'Harry?' she whispered, sitting up, arms outstretched. 'Why is it so dark? I-I can't see anything!'

'Don't worry...' Tilting his wand back and forth, he allowed the charm to lift in their immediate vicinity.

'Salazar's blood!' cried Tracey, looking at him with fear in her eyes. 'Your mouth... Harry, your ear...!'

''s not the time,' he mumbled, coughing a bit as he tried to stand. Tracey immediately jumped up and put his left arm around her shoulder. 'The Aurors,' he grunted.

Carefully, he levitated the unconscious pair of Aurors into the shadows of the car. 'The big one recognised me,' he said, nodding in the direction of the still growing bubble of darkness. 'He was with Antonius back at Hogwarts.'

'Y-you're not going to kill them, are you? You can't, they're Aurors!'

Harry looked down at them with a hateful glance, remembering how close the second one, who was now finally revealed to be a bald man in his early forties, had come to maiming the witch next to him. Noiselessly, the big raven from before landed on top of the sports car, tilting its head this and that way in erratic, almost curious movements.

'No,' he said, coming to a decision and lifting his wand.

Both Tracey and the raven looked up at him.

Narrowing his eyes, he breathed, ' _Obliviate!_ '

The surrounding area briefly lit up in intense silvery light, but Tracey looked relieved. 'Nice! I didn't know you had that to fall back on! I thought it took years to get it right.'

'It does,' conceded Harry with an enigmatic smile. 'I can't target specific memories.'

Tracey and the raven both tilted their heads quizzically. Warily, Harry gave the raven a second glance.

'But you said you ca-' began Tracey.

'I _can_ , however, remove their last few minutes, hours or even days, depending on how much I overload the spell,' he said with a cold sneer, tapping his left leg almost offhandedly with his wand to salve the pain a bit, his eyes again on the two Aurors.

His expression was beginning to unsettle Tracey. 'How much power did you use?' she asked, shivering a bit and not just from the cold.

Finally, Harry turned around, the Aurors obviously no concern of his any longer. 'All of it.'

With jerky, powerful movements, the fat raven took flight again just as a shadow fell over Harry and Tracey, his talons scratching Harry's shoulder painfully. Harry aimed his wand at the rabid animal, but the moment he looked up, the raven immediately ceased to be of any concern.

Dully, Harry stared at the three stories of falling concrete and stone. There was no spell on Harry's depleted mind, no clear thought – only the sight of the silently falling tons of masonry about to crush both him and Tracey was burnt into his eyes.

'Tracey?'

'Hmm?'

'I'm sorry.'

And with an almighty, rumbling crash, the débris hit the street, tons and tons of rock smashing into the asphalt with life-denying finality.

Even after the terrible roar finally stopped, it took minutes for the dust to settle. Numb from disbelief, Harry looked up. Tracey gaped at him, her mouth still open from her last scream of horror. Clenching his fist to stop the trembling, he had a look at the floor. The space around both of their feet, which just so happened to include the Aurors, was the only space in about fifty yards free from rubble. The Muggle vehicle not one foot away wasn't even visible anymore under the landslide of rubbish.

'Do you believe in higher powers?' he whispered hoarsely.

Tracey gave a shaky, hysterical laugh. 'T-That wasn't you?!'

Slowly, Harry shook his head. Tracey, her big eyes moving frantically, only muttered, 'Merlin's beard!'

After a few calming breaths, Tracey eventually climbed the avalanche, helping the completely exhausted and still very much limping Harry along the way.

'Can't you do anything? You look horrible!'

'Can't,' he sighed, almost falling down when he had another coughing fit and spat out blood. 'I already did my best to stay mobile, but my knee is smashed, an-' He stopped, fighting for breath with a terrible whistling sound. 'And something's wrong with my lung,' he added in a low voice.

'I...I'm sorry about forgetting, you know, Auror protocols,' whispered Tracey apologetically.

'It's not your fault,' he returned briskly. 'I got caught like an idiot. You did well.'

She smiled at him awkwardly, clearly unconvinced, but they continued their journey nevertheless, if decidedly slower than before.

'It's not much farther, Harry, come on!' said Tracey, trying to cheer him up, wincing as he buckled down and spat out some more blood.

Contrary to Tracey's tangible hope, they soon came across an obstacle that completely shattered their illusion of an easy finish for their desperate rescue mission gone awry.

'It's their hunting ground,' mumbled Harry, slumping down at the next corner, close to a still smoking wreck, carefully spying around the corner.

'What are we supposed to do?!' asked Tracey. 'It's in the way!'

Not three hundred yards further down the street, there was a curtain of snow, hail and ice, enclosing parts of the city like a dome, terrible purple strikes of lightning flashing through the air so often they had to avert their eyes. The daunting magical phenomenon made Harry's skin crawl. It felt...wrong.

Possibly even worse than the impassable veil of tempest that made Siberia seem like a pleasurable option for vacation, dozens of armoured Muggle vehicles stood further down the road, men in uniforms scurrying about, conversing with a dozen men in long leather coats.

Even from a distance, Harry rather thought the tallest of them had strikingly familiar long, auburn hair.

'We can't go through there, we need to go around,' hissed Tracey.

'No time,' mumbled Harry, his eyes drilling into the giant.

'That's madness! Those are special Aurors, the both of us couldn't even take one of them in a fair fight – nevermind a dozen!'

'I know.'

'And...and you can't go through that storm in your state, Harry!' she pleaded. 'We'll freeze to death in there!'

'I know.'

'And the lightni-'

'Shut up, Tracey,' mumbled Harry drowsily, fumbling in his robes for a few seconds, until his fingers closed around a very specific unbreakable bit of glass he'd taken to carry around since uncovering the truth about the nightmares in the forest.

'Tracey, I'm,' he bent over, coughing violently, 'I-I wish to apologise in advance; you'll have to trust me that no harm will come to you.'

'What?!'

Slowly, Harry produced a tiny phial with a black substance rarer even than carbonado.

'What is that, Harry?' asked Tracey, eyeing the little phial as if it were a doomsday weapon.

'Lethifold blood.'

'And?' she asked under her breath, looking more apprehensive by the second.

'Did you know there's only ever one pack of Lethifolds in any given area? They're cannibals.'

'...No!'

'And that's why I'm going to toss this further up the street,' he continued, unimpressed. 'The pack will descend upon that area in a frenzy, and they'll clear the way for us too.'

'No, you can't! There are people up north, Harry!'

'There are people down south, too,' he replied calmly, gripping the phial.

'A-and the Aurors, the military. You can't!' she pleaded. 'Please!'

'Most of the people left alive up north should be barricaded in their homes. And the Aurors,' he said, eyeing the men in the dark leather coats. 'Well, I'm sure most of them will make it out somehow.'

'And the Muggles?' insisted Tracey shrilly.

Harry didn't answer, placing the phial in his left palm, holding it high above his head, and aiming his wand. 'Tracey?'

'No, Harry, please don't do this!'

'Close your eyes!'

And without giving her a chance to protest again, Harry blasted the phial high into the air, his spell to cancel the unbreakable charm finding its target half a second later. In a spectacular arc, it soared through the sky like a star, the glass sparkling, reflecting the lightning storm until only the very occasional glint was all that could be seen.

Harry waited, all his muscles tense, listening with all his might. The silence was torment...

A sudden and tremendous thunder burst all the windows in the street, and Harry threw himself over Tracey, flicking his wand with silent prayers. The wind was deafening – a frightful howl filled with indiscernible screams and loaded with snow and the chill of death. It washed over them like the tide, clawing, ripping at their minds from within their skulls, tearing at their very sanity.

 _:::This presence was tasted before...little Thoughtling? Has it come to play?:::_

 _:::Little Thoughtling!:::_

Involuntarily, Harry looked up for the briefest of moments out of sheer terror. Something unnaturally thin and dark was flickering just beyond his vision – but it was out there, too fast for him to focus on. From one second to the next, the terrible screeching in his mind increased tenfold. Harry cried out in pain, dropping his head like a beaten child.

 _:::Hide, little Thoughtling. Hide, vanish in the winds!:::_

 _:::Yes, vanish!:::_

 _:::Vanish!:::_

Tracey was screaming, twisting madly in his grip, and all Harry could do was to somehow keep up his charm and restrain the flailing witch as best as he could – hoping against hope...

And miraculously, as if following his prayers, the malicious gale gradually settled a bit.

Only forty seconds later, Harry reluctantly blasted his own shield charm to prevent the heap of snow on his protective spell from burying them alive. Snow banks as high as eight feet loomed large.

Looking north, he saw the familiar dome of hail and lightning encasing the central most part of London. Further down the street, the area was deserted, a large Muggle vehicle with some kind of long, protruding barrel stood abandoned, the only thing still visible in the snow, the only reminder of the former checkpoint.

Grimly, Harry looked down at the still trembling form of Tracey.

'Tracey,' he called softly.

But the witch continued to whimper and shiver in the snow.

'TRA-' Harry broke down again, succumbing to another coughing fit, his lungs burning. Thinking better of it, he shook the witch, not too ruggedly. 'Tracey, wake up!'

Tracey's eyes snapped open, still bulging in terror, and she shrieked at the top of her voice.

'Tracey!' he called again, still shaking her. 'Look at me!'

Her scream stopped abruptly, her wide eyes on Harry. Then, she sagged with debility as if all strength had left her body.

'Come on, it's over,' he said in a soft voice, noting that her body was still convulsing slightly.

'That was awful, Harry,' she whimpered, tears in her eyes.

'I bet you're glad you had to study Occlumency now, aren't you?' he said with a humourless grin.

Tracey nodded shakily, her left hand clutching Harry's robes. 'I feel weak...'

Harry rubbed his eyes. He hadn't expected Tracey to suffer quite as much, but then again, even after the barbaric training in Occlumency he had endured this past year and all the carefully planned instructions before, he'd almost lost consciousness. That he had somehow managed to keep the charm going and prevent Tracey from seriously hurting herself was nothing but a bloody wonder.

It took a lot of effort for him to drag her to her feet again. Harry had benumbed his own leg, shoulder and wrists, but that didn't help much with the burning pain in his lungs or the breathing. Tracey, too, swayed dangerously when they finally started walking again, both too tired to crouch, both one arm around the other in the faint hope of not toppling over.

The checkpoint was completely devoid of life, though neither Harry or Tracey looked too closely under their feet as they hobbled over the crimson snow, two solitary figures in a world of white, grey and red.

Tracey gave a short hysterical laugh as she saw the bite marks on the tank. 'This is horrible,' she muttered again. 'I-I can't believe you summoned them intentionally!'

Harry said nothing.

'The...marks seem kind of different from what you and Leo described though,' she said. A moment later, she apparently realised what she'd said, and she covered her own mouth, disgusted with herself.

'Who knows – maybe they're just letting off steam?' he speculated numbly.

Tracey gave him a long, hard stare through droopy eyes. 'Has anyone ever told you your humour is really awful?'

They travelled straight south, occasionally blasting gigantic drifts of snow out of their way, wary of burnt-out buildings, their tired eyes nervously scanning the area. But they were alone, the only two humans still foolish enough to prowl the roads. And that was no wonder; the distant pulse of the unrelenting magical thunderstorm still shook the earth almost a mile further south. At least there weren't so many corpses on the streets anymore. Apparently, the strange Muggle sirens kept the people in their shelters.

In the end, they reached an alley with a small boutique back to back with a devastated flower shop. Harry pursed his lips, looking at the space between the shops. The pavement looked charred, but no building in the immediate vicinity seemed to have been hit by the ferocious lightning strikes. He took that as a good sign.

Nodding at one another, they trudged towards the solid wall, not even looking up as it gave way and opened up to a small, homely building that stood encircled by a soigné orchard meadow.

As they approached the house, Harry aimed the wand in his right that was still slung over Tracey's shoulder and muttered, ' _Obscuro_!'

Tracey stumbled immediately, nearly causing both of them to kiss the cobbles. 'What the hell, H...Enzo?!'

'She's not to know, _Viktor!_ ' said Harry, dunning.

They'd barely taken a dozen paces on the plot when the front door burst open, and both Daphne and Tori appeared, wands raised. The moment they spotted Harry, they came running, crying tears of relief.

'Harry, Harry!'

'Harry, oh my god, Harry! What happened to you?! I'm so glad you're safe,' cried Daphne, hugging his painfully protesting chest. 'Mum did some charm an hour ago, and she's been bleeding ever since! W-we don't know what to do!'

'Show me to her!' he said, coughing.

'Who's this?' asked Tori bravely, pointing at Tracey and trying not to stare at Harry's face with revulsion.

'Oh, he's Viktor,' said Harry with a small smirk. 'He's a mate of mine.'

Daphne immediately put her arms around Harry and helped him into the house, Tori helping the silent but presumably glaring Tracey, whose hood now appeared all but empty, a shadow hiding her entire face.

Ophala looked weak, her long, elegant limbs pallid, dark circles around her eyes. The girls had obviously sustained her with _Blood Replenishers_ , but a short look towards the floor and the peculiar wound on her wrist told Harry all he needed to know.

He produced the lighter from within his pocket, trailing his wand over the metal to modify the Portkey with a new destination.

'Grab each other's hands!' he instructed the girls.

Nervously, they did as they were told, Tori and Daphne holding their fainted mother up.

'Harry, what about y-' asked Tori, confused.

'Daphne, catch!'

Automatically, Daphne caught the lighter in her left hand. With a whistle and a flash of light, they all disappeared with mixed looks of shock and bewilderment.

Harry gave a violent cough, kneeling down, tracing his wand along the floorboards. The air seemed to shimmer a bit. Making a face, Harry repeated the pattern of his movements for five more minutes until a red circle with dozens of wiggling symbols appeared from thin air, exactly where Daphne's and Tori's mother had collapsed.

With a grim nod, Harry flicked his wand, and the ward immediately lit up in violet flames.

 _It seems Regulus taught you a few tricks, Ophala..._

After one last sweeping motion across the floor to hide all traces of their arrival, Harry took his cape in his hands and, with a sigh of relief, activated the _second_ Portkey he had created back at Tracey's, the cape yanking him and – quite possibly – a seriously disgruntled Tracey back towards her home...

 _~BLVoD~_

Two hours later, only the crows and ravens bore witness to the one hundred men in leather coats and one magnificently bearded gentleman in yellow robes as they collectively raised their wands, and rays of light shot up into the dark, overcast sky of London. The clouds tore open, and a terrible rumbling echoed all over the city as the storm suddenly drifted westwards, away from the city.

In the next few hours, the winds died down, and the sun once more shone down upon the world of man.

But about a quarter million Muggles, witches and wizards alike would never again open their eyes to see the warming rays of light.


	40. VoD: The sounds of solitude

_This week's chapter is a bit more delicate and subtle than blazing wands, but I hope you can appreciate its tender tones._

 **The sounds of solitude**

* * *

The youngest of the Blacks sat in the library – alone, encircled by candles and lanterns. With a strained expression of determination, he kept his head bowed over the parchment, fingers playing with the edge of the page.

The candles hissed softly in the draught, causing him to look up with a scowl. Angrily, he raised his wand, casting a silent _Bubblehead Charm_ over the lot of them before he resumed his silent staring. Minutes crept by without the rustling of pages...

Some time later and with a muffled swish, the candles flickered and died from oxygen deprivation, submerging the lone reader in darkness – yet he didn't look up.

For minutes, dozens of minutes, the trickling of dust, unduly disturbed and now left to reclaim its rightful dominion, was the only thing to violate the stillness of the scene. It whirled around, dancing to the tune of some puff of air, shrouding the books, the shelves, and the reader alike in its caressing mantle of transience.

At some point in time, the soft groaning of wood, like one might expect from an old building in winter, echoed through the library. It was nary a tone – let alone noise – but the reader gave a start as if the library had been shaken with explosions.

His eyes lingered on the floor and the closed door before they fell, with a look of surprise, on the extinguished lights. With a wave of his wand, they ignited once again. One hand supporting his chin, he resumed his pondering, the candles once more free to shed their silent tears of wax. And like this, midnight came and went until the weeping candles had spent their last bit of life...

Inevitably, the red hue of dawn was tenderly invited in through the cracks in the blinds, causing the reader to look up, blinking. He narrowed his eyes as the soft glow invaded the room over the floorboards, and he pointed his wand. The blinds rattled loudly, but the invincible march of the morning sun could not be halted.

With an angry growl, Harry jumped up, sending the book flying into the depths of his family's collection.

He couldn't even remember its title.

Hands in his pockets, he slouched towards the exit, slamming the door of his befouled sanctum with enough force to shake the portraits in the corridor. They protested hotly, wagging their heads, raising their fingers in reprimand, shouting obscenities.

Harry just walked past them all.

The kitchens were empty as the elves were busy like never before; after all, the frolicsome ball was just around the corner. Harry grabbed an apple, plunked it down on a plate, and tapped it with his wand. The fruit split in a complicated pattern as if simultaneously cut by a dozen knives, leaving sixteen perfectly symmetrical slices and the core in their midst. Without any enthusiasm, Harry nibbled on one of them, traipsing with the plate in his left hand towards the neglected and cheap table in the far corner.

When he spotted three copies of the Prophet lying in wait on the tabletop, he faltered. Averting his eyes, he put the plate down on the table and left the kitchen and his seely meal behind.

He wasn't hungry anyway.

Over the next couple of hours, Harry busied himself in his chambers, going through the towers of books, booklets and leaflets, re-stacking the lot of them, tidying up his desk, polishing his quills, refilling the inkwells to the brim, going so far as to sort the parchment he usually had in loose stacks by size, thickness, and even tinge.

He decluttered his trunk, folded his robes with excessive care, refilled his ingredients for Potions, and checked on the protection of his trunk.

Not for the first time, his eyes darted to the large cherry wood clock.

 _tick – tock – tick – tock_

Harry stood in the middle of the room, realising – for the first time – just how big it was. Idly, his gaze wandered to the window. The outside was blinding, the melting snow dazzling under the aggressive sun.

The sight made Harry sick.

 _tick – tock – tick – tock_

He cast a glance over the rest of the room. The giant bed Cranky still hadn't shrunk back looked as inviting as ever. But, to his dismay, Harry didn't feel the least bit tired. Gone was the underlying lassitude that had plagued him since last summer, gone the constant craving for sleep. It was a pity – he would have quite liked to sleep away the day. The small bookshelf seemed to groan with its burden, the long boards sagging under the weight of dozens and dozens of books. Most of them were about magic, some about history, just a few dealt with society, Muggles or even governmental structures in Europe.

Usually, being shelved in his bedroom was the greatest honour a book in this household could aspire to, because it meant that, despite being read a handful of times, the avid reader still couldn't bear to part with it. Right now, Harry felt like he could easily do without all of them.

 _tick – tock – tick – tock_

The room always looked the same, at least to Harry. True, some books might come and go, some letters, essays, or new inks might take up residence at his desk, but the likeness of the room was always the same, and he loved it that way. It gave him comfort to think that some things don't change, wouldn't ever change – stability meant peace of mind.

 _tick – tock – tick – tock_

The unrelenting, merciless ticking of the clock drove him away and into the dressing room. Hundreds of robes flaunted on their rails: silken robes in majestic purple, precious velvet fabrics of midnight blue, snug winter hats of caressing plush...

Harry yanked a cheap, black linen robe from its stand and rammed it over his head, putting on a pair of sturdy boots he usually wore for Herbology before fleeing the house.

It was cold outside, with temperatures around the freezing point – the unbearable sun would only manage to melt a thin film of snow that would, come night, freeze to ice. It was strange like that; the warmth would only end up hurting people. He shuffled over to the north side of the mansion, resting on a bench Arcturus had once told him his wife had set up. Even as the first flakes of snow began to fall, Harry continued his silent vigil over the wild and fallow side of their mansion.

He liked the view; the banality of the woods, the bench hidden in the shadows and sheltered from the sun – it didn't expect anything of him. There was no wind, and the snow fell peacefully as if someone was dropping every single flake with great care. And so he sat, revelling in the dullness of his surroundings, not caring about the little piles of snow that were gathering on his shoulders and hair...

Harry only looked up when the orange horizon disturbed his serenity. Immediately, he got up as if he had something to do, retreating eastwards around the building. Even from outside, though that might have been because he'd forgotten to shut the door, he could hear the elves busying themselves with the ballroom, arranging the seating, finishing decorations.

He hadn't seen his grandfather all day, but that was to be expected. Could he really demand time from a man who was already walking a tightrope with the Wizengamot, the headship of his family, the ball, and Merlin knew what else?

Also, did he really _want_ to talk right now...? Arcturus had, presumably, taken his breakfast in the smaller dining room same as every day. Hadn't it been Harry who had avoided him?

His restless fingers played with his wand, twirling it nervously around in soothingly familiar movements. Relaxing a bit, he gazed at the hundreds of layers of wards around their mansion. If he really concentrated, he could hear their humming, differentiate their colours, even taste their flavour. Purely by coincidence, the last ward to ensheathe their mansion was the very charm to keep the Ministry from prying into matters of underage magic. It was true that the department didn't even bother anymore with domestic offences of underage wizardry, but trust was something his family had learned to only apply to themselves.

He looked down at his low-cost and somewhat threadbare robes. Did it really matter anymore? Deciding that he very much didn't care, he ripped a bit of fabric from his right sleeve. Like a man making a quaint but inconsequential discovery, he inspected his torn and ragged clothes. It would be sensible to just go inside and use the Floo, and Arcturus wouldn't be pleased at all if he left the house unsupervised...

After a brief moment of hesitation, Harry tapped the dark rag in his hand with his wand. A momentary shimmer of cyan, a ringing whistle, and he was gone.

 _~BLVoD~_

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was close to overflowing with both patients and desperate relatives. Visitors were everywhere, squawking in their penetrative, crude voices, harshly demanding answers from hassled, sleep-deprived healers who did their best to placate them.

The Welcome Witch was too busy to pay any attention to him as three couples demanded in hysterical yells to see their children, but a few healers shot him strange looks, though Harry wasn't quite sure if they were directed at his person or his frazzled robes.

A kind-looking witch in her early thirties asked him with a smile if he was okay. Harry just shrugged and walked away. How was he supposed to answer that question? He himself didn't quite know if he 'was okay'. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, maybe he would be. But, at the very least, he knew he didn't want to talk to a stranger about it, no matter her pretty face.

Harry weaved through the crowd. Every once in a while, a pair of anxious parents would forcefully bump shoulders with him and he would tumble. It took more effort than it should've to get up again, but he did without complaint. He noted that the desperate parents didn't ask whether he was okay or not.

When he finally made it to the fourth floor, his cheap robes had torn at his knees, and the heel of his hand was bleeding a bit, but he couldn't find it in him to care very much. Wiping the blood on his robes, he approached a private room in the spell damage ward.

His hand touched the handle, and he felt the intimate sensation of the wards wash over him, but the magic only seemed to purr for a second, settling down immediately afterwards. He was just about to push the door open when a familiar voice made him stop, his hand still on the knob.

'...and I haven't been able to get a word out of her,' he heard Amaryllis air her grievance to the occupant of the room. 'It wasn't too bad at first, but just when she finally seemed to calm down a bit, she got violently sick. I...I've never seen my daughter cry like that, Ophala. I had to dose her with potions because she just wouldn't calm down. It was awful!'

Harry felt his own stomach turn. He shouldn't have eaten that slice of apple.

'She was with Harry, wasn't she?' asked the soft and weak voice of Ophala Greengrass. The other voice seemed to hesitate, causing Ophala to chuckle a bit. 'Don't worry, my dear. I'll soon know anyway.'

'Y-you're really going through with it? Do the girls know?' asked Amaryllis, shocked.

'Of course, they don't. But it's going to happen this summer. I hope they'll come to accept my decision, especially my poor little Daphne. She's as unbending as iron and twice as brittle.'

'Is it...Is it because of your husband?' inquired Amaryllis empathically.

Harry let his hand fall down and slumped against the cool wall of the corridor, the door still agape.

'I...can't talk with you about it. I'm sorry, Lis.'

'Don't be! I'm sorry I got curious.'

Just then, a man in a healer's uniform and a tray of phials stumbled past him, pushing open the door after a brief glance at Harry. His eyes appeared to be rather unfocused as he passed through the wards.

'Mrs Greengrass, I have your potions here.'

'Ah! I'll be taking them immediately, Healer Jeswick. Thank you!'

'By the way,' Harry heard the man ask over the clinking of glass, 'did one of you ladies leave your gnome outside? Pets are not allowed on hospital grounds!'

After a brief moment of silence, Amaryllis replied delicately, 'I'll be sure to take him with me, later on.'

'Good, good.'

The healer left the room again, scowling at Harry before he suddenly stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, his brow wrinkled in confusion as if trying to remember something. With a shrug, he went off.

'I'm afraid he's been confunded one too many times since yesterday,' said Ophala. 'But he wouldn't stop asking questions, so we had little choice...'

Amaryllis gave an amused laugh as a reply. 'Never mind the poor healer! So, are you going to attend the ball tomorrow?'

'Well, I'd better,' responded Ophala, weary. 'My oldest hasn't been able to shut up about it for weeks. Since she's assured herself that I'll be able to leave tomorrow, she seemed more than just a little insistent. Astoria too desperately wanted to attend, but thank goodness she hasn't found anyone to go with yet.'

'We'll be able to catch up tomorrow, then,' said Amaryllis over the rustling of clothes. 'I'd better get back to work; the Ministry's in an uproar.'

'Thanks for coming by, Lis.'

'Don't worry about it. I'll be seeing you tomorrow!'

Harry didn't look up as he heard the sound of the door closing. 'Harry!' cried Amaryllis Davis shrilly. 'Slytherin almighty, you look dreadful! What happened?! Did someone attack you?'

Harry wordlessly shook his head, reluctantly looking up and into her golden doe eyes, wincing when she returned his gaze. 'I-' he stammered in a raspy voice, 'I-I'm sorry, Amaryllis!' Instead of getting up, he kneeled in front of the woman. 'I'm sorry! I messed up! I nearly got the both of us killed! And the Muggles... I'm sorry! I should never have involved your daughter. I'm so sorry!'

With a heartful smile, Amaryllis dragged him to his feet. 'Come on, Harry. You shouldn't be kneeling before me. For all the burdens you bear and all the responsibilities life has seen fit to lay upon your shoulders, you're still just human. You brought my daughter back from that hell, and that's really all I could ever have asked for. You even rescued Ophala; your grandfather told me all about it!'

Amaryllis gave him a hug Harry thought he didn't deserve, kissing the top of his head. 'And as for what happened,' she whispered in his ear, 'if it hurts too much looking forward, have a look behind you to find something to give you strength. And if nothing else helps, find someone to talk to.'

Harry nodded weakly in her embrace.

'There you go,' she said with a bright smile, producing her wand from within her purse and waving it at Harry. His scraped knees and scratched hand immediately knit themselves whole again, as did his robes. 'I'll take care of Tracey, but you, Harry, need to take better care of yourself.'

Harry shrugged, taking a step back. 'I will,' he returned without any real conviction.

'By the way, how did you get here? Are you alone?' she asked, looking around.

'Visitor's entrance,' he answered evasively. 'And it would be ridiculous of me to be here alone.'

Tracey's mother looked at him for a second before she obviously decided to not further question him. 'Listen, if you need help, Harry, that's what family is for. If you don't want to talk with the adults, ask your cousins. I'm sure they'll be able to help you. I need to get going, my break was over about half an hour ago – I think. Take care of yourself, will you?' she asked with a stern expression, looking around to make sure they were alone before she obviously decided he needed another hug.

Harry just nodded.

And with one last encouraging smile, Amaryllis took a few steps backwards, spun on the spot, and vanished with a loud crack.

Harry hung his head and maundered back towards the visitor's entrance, unwilling to pay attention to his surroundings. A few more times, healers and adults ran him over, but he didn't resist or complain, picking himself up almost regretfully.

Near the entrance, when he could be reasonably sure to be out of sight, he activated his Portkey and surrendered to the uncomfortable pull of spatial travel.

Back home, he immediately climbed the stairs towards his room, hoping that his absence hadn't attracted attention. Once inside, he leant heavily against the heavy door and slumped down again. The angry buzzing in his stomach had lifted ever so slightly, but he still felt very much like throwing up any second.

From one second to the next, he angrily tore at his hair. The wild movement of his flailing hands caught a little bit of paper that had rested, carefully folded and out of sight under another leaflet, on top of his desk. Accusingly, it hit the ground right in front of Harry.

It was last night's Daily Prophet. A giant picture of the still smouldering city centre occupied almost the entire page, and in bold, accusing crimson the headline read:

 _We will never forget!_

 _Bloodthirsty attack on London results in thousands of innocent victims_

 _ICW to investigate possibility of unknown Dark Witch or Wizard behind catastrophe_

 _~BLVoD~_

The Wizengamot was alive with acclamation. It wasn't at all uncommon for speeches or even dignitaries to be heralded with great éclat, but this time, with the notable exception of two gentlemen who were currently biding their time, the entire Wizengamot was unified in unopposed, (and possibly even rarer) genuine applause and shouts of joy. In the centre of the events stood Albus Dumbledore – still wearing his wholly inappropriate citrus yellow robes – looking tired and old but acknowledging the applause with lordliness. A few men and women in heavy trench coats stood a few paces behind him, but they seemed rather happy to let the man in front take all the laud.

It took a long time for the clapping to die down, as whenever the sound seemed to finally dim a bit, someone would stand up and cry, 'Bravo!' encouraging the rest of the assembly to continue their ringing statement.

Almost fifteen minutes later, the Minister finally managed to make himself heard.

'Chief Warlock, the dark events of the past two days left us devastated, desperate, dismal, as never in recent history has Great Britain had such a grievous wound inflicted to its very heart and soul. And yet, in these most terrible and tragic of times, we often find the brightest of lights spend not only hope – but help also. For your staggering intervention, which – I do have to expatiate upon – included not only formulating a plan, gathering resources and allies, but also modifying century-old charmwork that helped save the good men and women of London, you have the heartfelt gratitude of Wizarding Britain and my personal, eternal thanks. But – my Lords and Ladies – Chief Warlock Dumbledore went even beyond all that! It is...sickish to speak of such things during times that should, by right, be reserved to honour the dead, help console the inconsolable, and rebuild what was taken from us, but the man we wish to extol today even took it upon himself to help the Obliviators in what is likely the biggest incident of this nature to take place in centuries.

'Chief Warlock, we bow to your devotion to the good folk of Britain, magic and Muggle, and your exemplary conduct we should all be proud to strive to emulate. It is my very great pleasure to hereby nominate you, as the first wizard ever to grace these halls, for your second Order of Merlin, first class.'

Following these words, Bartemius Crouch indicated, with many a twirl of his hands, a respectful bow, and most men and women of the Wizengamot mirrored his gesture.

'Minister, venerated members of the Wizengamot,' called Albus Dumbledore in a clear voice. 'You honour me with your praise and your gratitude, as you honour yourselves with the continued service you render our country in your function as members of this most esteemed congregation.'

Short applause broke out, but Dumbledore lifted his hand to prevent matters from escalating again. 'But the time for speeches, laudations and commendations is not yet here. Naturally, we all acknowledge the terrible loss caused by the...tragedy that unfolded in such a dreadful manner yesterday, and in this knowledge, we must first work to undo and salve the wound our fellow witches and wizards, our cities, and yes, the Muggles and even the very land itself has been afflicted with. In this spirit, I ask for leave to attend to matters related to the terrible plight that has befallen our country, to return to Hogwarts and help mount, not merely another defence but – with luck – an enterprise to truly protect all of us from these nightmares that ravaged our lands.'

'Bravo!'

'Well spoken!'

Many of the assembled once again stood up to proclaim their support, though the man in the topmost lodge noted with a small and altogether rather smug, if well-hidden, grin that still a few seemed curbed by the soft reprimand the old Warlock had given.

'Well said, the Ministry too will address these most urgent of concerns with all due haste and sobriety. Thus, if no esteemed member of this council wishes to raise another concern, I hereby declare the three hundred eighty-first emergency session of the Wizengam-'

'Just a second, Barty!' someone called from the front rows.

The Minister looked inquisitive if cool at the casual address. 'We recognise Randall Prewett. You have the floor, _sir_.'

Prewett gave the man a boyish grin, just as many in the audience grinned exasperatedly at the antics of their erstwhile Chief Auror. 'The occasion is altogether much too fanciful for one such as me, and I'm afraid you all know by now that I never got around to that formal speaking our good Minister lavished on the Chief Warlock.'

Again, he grinned ruefully, winking at a few men who sat in the back. A few softer groans of 'Too true!' could be heard here and there, in combination with amused chuckling. The man in the top box idly noted how effective the whole thing was. He didn't doubt for a single second that Rendall Prewett meant it all and without malicious intent, but his friendly and intimate way of speaking in combination with the subtle reassurance he'd received from the audience now made the pompous presentation of the Minister look rather foolish.

'I just wanted to say,' Prewett began anew, leaning casually against the wooden railing, 'that Frank and me,' someone in the front rows coughed rather meaningfully, and Prewett rubbed the back of his head apologetically, 'I mean Chief Auror Longbottom and myself had a brief talk, and we've decided to do our bit and donate two million Galleons for the cause of supplying medical treatment and reconstruction.'

An awed murmur filled the room. Two million Galleons was more than most noble houses could gather even _if_ they decided to sell their heirlooms. Even the Longbottoms and Prewetts, and that would factor in the other Pillars helping out, would have to make considerable cuts to gather this astonishing sum.

'And,' Prewett looked up, grinning happily, 'half the same again for the magically aided reconstruction of Muggle London. That's all!' he said, quickly sitting down again.

Once more, applause broke out, and Prewett seemed happy to take it, waving at a few people, a puerile grin plastered all over his face.

'Thank you for this most generous donation, Mr Prewett. I promise we shall put it to good use. Now if there isn't anything else,' Crouch continued with a shade of impatience, 'I really ought to get back t-'

'A short word, Minister,' a voice called from the upper rows.

Crouch looked up with suspicious eyes. After a second, he said, 'We recognise Lucius Malfoy.'

The call of the man's name acted like a blanket stifling the mood, many a cheery and relieved grin slowly twisting into mistrustful frowns.

'This will take but a second, Minister,' said Lucius Malfoy smoothly as he descended the steps, all eyes on his elegant form, his silvery-white hair shining in the gloom. 'I am very much, of course, in agreement with the spirit of this meeting, and I couldn't think of a more...fitting choice to finally break the age-old tradition of never handing out the same award twice,' he declared delicately. 'But, time-honoured Wizengamot, not only are we _supposed to be_ the custodians of traditions and the institution of our government.' With soft steps, he entered the empty ring in the middle, raising his hands. 'No,' he continued, his face stoic, 'we are also the guardians of our laws, as well as the judge. And the law should, naturally,' he added with a small smile, 'be impartial.'

'We are well aware of the purpose of this institution, seeing as most of us have worked here longer than you,' called Madame Bones coldly from her seat. 'I hope you do not presume to lecture us, Mr Malfoy?'

'Why – that would be almost...audacious, Madame!' returned Lucius with a rather believable imitation of indignation. 'No, I very much count on your sense of duty, because,' he went on, starting to pace like a man in some internal conundrum, 'while some acts might – undoubtedly – be for the,' he coughed politely, ' _Greater Good_ and for all intents and purposes serve the public, they might nevertheless be against the spirit and law of this very council we all swore to serve.'

The chamber was silent, every pair of eyes lingering on the man who'd stopped his pacing in front of the chair of the Chief Warlock, seemingly at random. 'Regarding that thought, there was just this extremely minor question I had, Chief Warlock.'

'Yes, Lucius?' responded Dumbledore politely.

'It's just, I seem to recall that, barely last week, following the proposal of Lord Black, this very court ordered you to remain at Hogwarts under _any and all_ circumstances, no matter the situation elsewhere and to uphold the safety of the youths you are sworn to protect.' Lucius looked up, smiling. 'Or am I mistaken?'

'Is this really the time, Lucius? Thousands of people died, are you really willing to exploit their-'

Finally, the man in the lodge stood up. 'Chief Warlock, law binds us all equally – bystanders, heroes and villains alike. You found yourself being the braver this time around, but the law, I'm afraid, you'll find blind to your exploits.'

And as the turmoil broke out and the vultures descended, Arcturus Black permitted himself a small but oh so very sweet smile of his own, smoothing his robes and sitting down again to enjoy the fall of a giant.


	41. VoD: Interlude: Ignotum per ignotius

**Interlude: Ignotum per ignotius**

* * *

A man stood amidst the carnage, one foot near what once had been a wall and now was the brink of a ten foot drop, the wind tussling his hair, tearing at his heavy coat. With a closed expression, he surveyed the ruins of the city that stretched out in front of him; once pomp and resplendence – now a grey maze of haunted ruins, a monument to the dead, a place for silence, devotion and – perhaps – despair. But for how long?

With all that money Rendall had shoved down the Wizengamot's throat, the city might be back to its former glory within the week. And then, it would all be like a bad dream. 'Terrible business, that,' they would say. 'But life has to go on, you know?'

Except that it didn't for the thousands who had died, who would be forgotten, upon whose graves they would rebuild this temple of technology. It made him sick that street vendors would prowl the place, yelling, tricking tourists who came to experience the _thrill_ of the aftermath.

Bitterly, the man spat. _Well, piss on them!_

Meditatively, he inspected the shards again. Was it really coincidence to find the shattered remains of an empty crystal phial in the _perfect_ centre of the storm, exactly where those cursed nightmares had done their worst?

There could be a thousand reasons for an expensive magical potion in a Muggle house without any registered witches or wizards around. In all likelihood, it was just a coincidence.

After a brief bout of hesitation, he pocketed the bit of glass with a frown, observing a few of his men searching the area around Charing Cross, apologetic, weak-chinned British recruits nervously scurrying around their feet like impressionable chimpanzees in uniforms. He gave a snort. That was the ultimate insult. Instead of giving him some of the capable men and women they undoubtedly had, he'd been assigned fresh blood out of the academy – pink, shiny faces; snotty noses; and that peculiar expression of the overtaxed, that toothy smirk of the ignorant trying to impress.

Damnable geezers! Bloody hell, he really despised politicians and their stupid little games! With all the freaking laws around the world, you'd figure someone would've had the bright idea to outlaw pencil pushers already!

Bracing himself, he jumped off the ledge, hands still in his pockets as he landed heavily on the rubble below.

The average politician had the natural gratitude of a crocodile, or maybe – he considered, walking down what remained of the street – a particularly hungry shark. Dumbledore had saved the day – what a jolly good chap! – here's your shiny medal! Oh, and by the way, we're of the opinion you should concentrate on your duties as headmaster from now on, so if you really don't mind, we'd like to politely kick you out of the Wizengamot, please.

Angrily, he stomped at a battered street sign, feeling some amount of satisfaction as it completely broke off its base.

Didn't they understand? Didn't they listen? Without Dumbledore presenting his case to the ICW, he never would've gotten the necessary support to pull it all off, even with the man's help. A hundred of the best Aurors the entire world had to offer, three-fourths of his entire force, and _still_ they had lost five men and three women – good people, people he needed! Why couldn't those blasted old yarn-spinning tossers do all the work? Why did he now have to speak with eight families and explain that their pride and joy had died during the course of their duty, died to protect a congregation of perfumed braggadocios on some forsaken corner of the globe?

Captain Luó, a man he'd seen _wrestle_ with werewolves and charge at Dementors, had lost his life when he'd pushed a few of the newcomers out of the way the second those bloody terrors had descended on their impromptu meeting with the Muggles. And Adebayo, the recruit with the highest aptitude test performance for two hundred years, had died within a third of a second when two of those freaking monsters had torn her limbs to shreds.

And for bloody what?

'Oh, I'm sure everything's in order now. You won, didn't you? Good job, have a little pay rise. And now bugger off, we have governing to do!'

 _Won_ , he repeated in his head, spitting again. What the ruddy hell had they won? A few hundred thousand cadavers? A ruined city? Or perhaps, he suspected, gritting his teeth, a shiny new medal? They had lost, that's what had happened! The enemy vanishing didn't make you the victor – it simply made you the last man standing. Worse, those bloody fools hadn't even learned anything!

He was seething by the time he'd made his way towards his newly promoted deputy. The woman stood in the middle of a landslide of what must have been a collapsed building or two, a pink-haired British recruit at her side. It didn't surprise him at all that she seemed to be apologising with devotion.

'Sir!' The captain jumped up, ripping off a salute as edged as the storeroom of a goblin smithy. The girl too assumed a certain deferential, if thankfully less annoying, pose.

'This isn't your dratted army, woman. Who's the brat you're babysitting, Williams?' he added, seamlessly switching to Yong-Quan Xiang because he figured the probability of the girl being fluent in Chinese dialects was relatively minor. Carefully, he slid down into what looked like a crater.

'Her name's Tonks, _sir_ ,' she answered with a thick accent, managing to communicate her disdain for coordinate speaking terms with her direct superior in just three letters – if she had been speaking English, of course.

Antonius nodded. 'She any good? Or as useless as the rest of the lot?'

'Well, sir, she's sent another building tumbling down when she stumbled over the wrong kind of debris that was holding the dump together.'

'I don't see how one more ruin could possibly matter at this point,' muttered Antonius darkly.

Captain Williams gave him a reprimanding glare. 'But, luckily, we made a bit of a discovery due to her bearishness, sir, so I'm calling it about even for now.'

Antonius couldn't, at this point, help wondering if the woman was trying to get on his nerves with the formal speech. Chinese didn't help the matter either as it offered plenty of opportunity for politeness and formality, and despite her accent, Williams' knowledge of formal Chinese was sadly well-developed. Then again, was it a surprise? Every Auror turned into a bit of a misanthropist after a decade or two; you just couldn't help yourself when you had to bear witness to the trash of humanity day in and day out.

'And what did you find?' he asked, prodding a bit of demolition waste with his boot, switching to a Shuangfeng dialect just to see if the American woman could keep up.

She looked up, her dark brow wrinkled in annoyance. But she managed well enough. 'Well, _sir_ , after Auror Recruit Tonks here,' she pointed at the completely bamboozled woman, 'triggered the second landslide, we couldn't help noticing this!'

Primly, she walked to the edge of the enclosure, picking up a bit of metal. Then, aiming at the centre of the waste-free space, she hurled it away with all her might. The pipe raced towards the ground until, still mid-air, it suddenly reversed, speeding back at Williams at exactly the same speed. The woman lazily moved her head to the side just in time to let the projectile pass by harmlessly. It flew quite an astonishing distance before crashing into another building further down the street.

Scowling, Antonius knelt, his black leather gloves running over the ground. 'Have you found any signs of a ward?'

'There is none, sir.'

'What did you say?'

'I said, "There is none, sir", sir!'

Antonius glared. After a second of completely ignored admonishment, he ran his wand over the ground, mumbling to himself. A verifiable fountain of colours lit up only to dissolve in air milliseconds later, no colour appearing twice. Eventually, the light show ran dry, and he looked up again. 'It's just spell residuum,' he concluded, his mind racing. 'The spell ghost effect.'

' _Just_ spell residuum, sir? Residuum powerful enough to still imitate the original spell two days later? In desperate times, it's not unheard of for echoes of a spell to linger. But _two days_?'

Antonius didn't reply. Most of his men and women would've been able to do something about a falling building, probably, but how many would've been able to do so in the heat of the moment? Someone had though, in a state of panic and with awe-inspiring might.

'Anything else?' he asked, switching to Sandawe, feeling a not inconsiderable amount of smugness as he saw her confusion. Deciding he'd played enough – and more importantly won – he repeated the question in English. The British lass looked immensely grateful.

'A runner came with news, but nothing good, sir. I took the liberty of having a look,' she replied gravely in her natural Boston dialect.

Antonius shrugged. 'Lay it on me.'

'Pichler and Sokolov are still at St Mungo's, sir, and our colleagues are still just as convinced to be attending Durmstrang in their last year. A certain Healer Smith expresses his regrets, but he doesn't believe their condition will improve.'

'Memory Charm, was it?'

'A wicked botched-up Memory Charm, sir. The spellwork was, as far as I can follow his explanations, dilettantish, at least as long as we're talking technique. The force applied, however, was anything but.'

'No Auror or Obliviator, then.'

'Definitely not, sir. Even Auror Recruit Tonks here could likely make a better job of it.'

They both looked at her for a second. Seeing the gazes of the two highest-ranking Aurors of the ICW concentrated on her, the girl swallowed a bit before grinning. 'I, er, blew that test.'

Williams looked at her disdainfully. 'How can you call yourself an Auror if you can't even do that? You don't strike me as the subtle sort either, Miss Tonks.'

'Well, I got full marks on both subterfuge and duelling. That should count for something, shouldn't it?'

Antonius and Williams exchanged a glance. 'Anyway, I'm leaving it up to you, Williams. You know the drill; contact the next of kin, prepare the official paperwork, get the pension released – all the happy stuff. Congratulations on your promotion!' he said with a dark chuckle.

'Thank you, _sir!_ '

'The second bit of news?'

'It's from the League, sir. They, I quote, "regret to inform us that all knowledge gained during the course of their legally sanctioned activities is subject to the strictest of confidentiality." The letter went on a bit, but they did at least confirm that Lethifolds don't leave...remains behind even if you get lucky enough to catch them off-guard.'

'Meaning we have no way to actually confirm if we really got them? Those blasted horn-blowing huntsmen are gloating to let us squirm in uncertainty, aren't they?'

'I couldn't possibly comment, sir,' replied Williams stiffly, pushing up her glasses with her pinky in a characteristic gesture. 'But I'm relatively certain that we successfully caught them all. True, the storm didn't immediately dissolve, but no traces of strange weather phenomena or casualties could be found within New Forest. It's just a storm – it'll blow over.'

'As storms are wont to do.' Antonius gazed at the small circle they stood in. It was quite cramped with three people, and Pichler and Sokolov had been found lying down, unconscious but bodily unharmed – mostly.

In his experience, that particularly painful contusion Pichler had suffered more often than not hinted at women involved. So two people at most, at least one of them female, both magical. One of them must have used the Memory Charm – but the spellwork was simply too shoddy to be compared to the lingering magnificence of the echo.

But why kick the Auror? Revenge? Anger? Then why only kick one? He knew Pichler – had known him, he corrected himself, gritting his teeth – and the man had been a bit rough around the edges but ultimately fair. Why not kick Sokolov too?

No, this wasn't something personal; hadn't he made extra sure to only pick Aurors with no acquaintances or familiar bonds to British pure-bloods? This smelled of desperation. A trick maybe? A diversion? So he knew that at least one of them was a woman who didn't try to overwhelm his Aurors with magic – smart girl. Sokolov's wand had been found, in contrast to Pichler's, and the man had let loose a true cornucopia of spells! And the first after the disillusionment had been a stunner. He might even have gotten one of them. If Sokolov had lost, and Antonius really doubted this, then it had more than likely been the one with the Memory Charm who'd somehow overwhelmed him. The sneaky approach maybe? The man had always been a hothead.

So one of them was knocked out, the other somehow battled with Sokolov. And then those scumbags erased their memories but did a bad job of it. Or maybe not? What if the purpose hadn't ever been subtlety but brute force permanency? In that regard, the elusive perpetrator had definitely succeeded – the bastard! He couldn't completely rule out the possibility that the Memory Charm was a faux lead yet, but somehow his guts told him to not go down that road.

So they were desperate, committed or foolish – likely a mix of all the aforementioned. And then the building fell. Could desperate, committed and foolish people have managed to pull off such a splendid solution? Doubtful. Also, if you were willing to kill the life and memories of your enemies, would you go out of your way to save them in a pinch? Probably not. Maybe it was just coincidence they had survived?

'Williams, have you found any trace around the area? Blood, hair, fabric – anything!'

'None whatsoever, sir.'

Antonius scowled. 'Hundreds of people have died in this street, Captain.'

'It is as I said, sir. All biological traces in the entire street have been removed. There's nothing left except bird droppings.'

He grunted. So there really was a third party involved. Someone not only powerful but also clear-headed, someone who'd tangled with Aurors in the past...

'Tonks, I assume you're familiar with the area?'

'Er, yes?'

'Tell me, is this – by any chance – more or less directly north of the second checkpoint we had before it was overrun?'

The girl looked a bit confused, but then she nodded. 'I think it is, more or less.'

So this spot just so happened to be right in the middle of the Lethifolds' first and second hunting ground?

His fingers fumbled with the sharp bit of glass in the pocket of his leather coat. 'Girl,' he barked, 'how far could you blast a small potion with your wand?'

'Oh, you mean like you might do a Bludger? I don't know, a few blocks with a solid Blasting Charm? The phial would have to take the hit, though.'

'Williams?'

'Yes, sir?'

'Write another letter to the damn League. If they continue refusing to cooperate with us, I'm going down to Guadeloupe myself to ram my wand up their tight little arses. Wrap that in diplomacy and make it sound urgent, understood?'

The woman looked blankly at him. 'I'll try, sir. But I thought you said we were done with the whole monster hunting business.'

'Oh, we are. I don't give a damn about that anymore.'

Grinning, he looked south. So what if being an Auror left you dysfunctional as a human being. There was at least one thing you were good at. This wasn't a case of nightmarish evils invading the lands of men no longer; no, this was a _crime_. Someone had attacked his men, someone had damn nearly killed them – killed their personalities at least. Someone was toying with him. Someone, his eyes widened a bit, might even have some amount of control over those blasted Lethifolds. Maybe there even was a connection to their appearance so far up north?

'Tonks, you're going to forget every word said here.'

The girl looked at him, deciding whether to follow this command or not. True, officially, he didn't have any kind of authority over her but...

Barely one second later, the girl made a career-saving decision. 'Yes, sir!'

Antonius nodded grimly at his deputy, and she returned the gesture. This was what they did best. The only thing they really understood. No more fancy words, no more politicians – now, his mouth twisted into a hungry grin, it was time to begin the _real_ hunt!


	42. VoD: Masquerade

**Masquerade _or_ Of sanity and other such luxuries**

* * *

Harry gazed straight ahead. A haunted-looking young man, impeccably dressed in alluring purple velvet robes stared back at him through dull green eyes, his visage partially concealed under a mop of unruly black hair.

A ball.

A dance, a celebration, a get together of friendly, like-minded – or at the very least opportunistic – people of note and a somewhat grabby persuasion. A congregation of the worthy, worldly, worshipped and – incidentally – wealthy glamorous top of society.

How he despised the lot of them.

In a daze of detachment, he watched his mirror image scowl in shared disgust. Victory Ball the Prophet had called it, trying to gloss over where it was to take place. A Victory Ball to honour the victims of the still undisclosed Lethifolds – at his home.

Fate could be so cruel.

'Master Harry, you is being very late! You is needing to get going!'

Harry lowered his eyes. Minnie was prancing around his feet, picking at a few creases he couldn't bring himself to care about right now.

'The Mistress is already being there too! Master Harry shouldn't be keeping the Mistress waiting.'

His original plan to treat Tracey to an evening of swish socialising just for the fun of seeing her squirm now seemed like the infantile prank of an idiotic boy. It hadn't even been a fortnight, but he couldn't help feeling some amount of revulsion towards the person that had left Hogwarts to celebrate a belated Yule. The past was full of bloody fools.

On the positive side of things, Tracey was unlikely to pester him with questions. With a sigh, he corrected his posture and assumed a scrupulously neutral expression. 'Anything else I should know, Minnie?'

'The Skeeter woman of the Prophet is being here at the leisure of the Minister, Master Harry.'

Harry swore wildly, causing the small elf to look at him in horror. 'Sorry,' he said, running his hand through his hair. 'I'm a bit...on edge.'

'Master Harry is not needing to apologise. But you is needing to get going, sir!'

'Yes, yes,' he mumbled.

Yielding to the gentle ushering, Harry eventually made his way down the set of stairs towards the intermingled, indistinct voices. Once every few seconds – like a wave – a laugh would rise above the incessant sea of mumbling only to dissolve again, meaningless and ephemeral.

His grandfather was entertaining several older foreigners. Nearly two dozen gentlemen in fine clothing stood around the rather short and wrinkled Lord Black, hanging on his every word. It was a trick, Harry knew; the softly spoken words were meant to captivate the audience, force them to listen attentively whilst projecting calm confidence. Harry did it too.

Circling around the enthralled audience, Harry nodded politely towards a few ancient witches he identified as, in every meaning of the word, old acquaintances of Arcturus, making his way through the crowd until he spotted Draco cowering behind Leo.

'Hey, there you are!' Leo hailed him happily.

Draco gave an immense start, turning around and raising his hands defensively. When he saw Harry, he took a deep breath of relief. 'Thank, Merlin,' he said, looking around nervously. 'You haven't seen the evil twin, have you?'

'No.'

'Good!'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Aren't you overreacting a bit? You can't have been here longer than half an hour, can you?'

'Amy's got the whole evening planned out,' explained Leo. Seeing Harry's disbelieving expression, he added, 'For maximum unpleasantness.'

'Oh, I see. Who else is here?'

'Pretty much everyone,' said Draco, repositioning himself to have Leo and Harry hide him from view.

Leo nodded. In a lower voice, he said, 'I think your whole family is in attendance, Harry. Except for Tonks; I heard she's working or something.'

'Truly?' Curious, Harry had another look at the crowd. Family reunions weren't really a thing for the Blacks unless there was some very good reason involved. With a frown, his eyes lingered on Amaryllis talking animatedly with Ophala. They _were_ friends from school but...

'Is your grandfather expecting trouble?' asked Leo, his eyes sweeping across the crowd too.

'I don't know. Where are the girls?'

'Still sitting at our table, I hope,' said Draco with a shudder. 'Can't you distract your cousin a bit, mate? I don't deserve this; I haven't even done anything tonight!'

Truth be told, Harry couldn't be bothered. Amy would keep Draco on his toes and thus from bugging him; a win-win situation as long as one disregarded Draco's discomfort. Harry thought he might just manage to make that sacrifice. 'She's your cousin, too, you know?' he said in a low voice. 'But I'll keep it in mind,' he added, thinking it might be a bit impolite to outright refuse.

'Thanks, man!'

'Don't mention it.'

'Are you alright, Harry? You look a bit pale,' asked Leo suddenly.

'It's nothing. Couldn't sleep so well tonight.'

'First, you can't stop sleeping; and now, you stop sleeping altogether? Stop being so extreme about it, mate!' said Draco with a grin.

Harry chose not to dignify that with an answer.

'Anyway,' continued Draco, who seemingly didn't need any prompting to keep the conversation going, 'you should have a look at Greengrass' dress! Wowsa!'

'Are we really talking about this?' asked Harry, levelling a disgruntled look at the younger Malfoy.

'Whatever problems that girl might have, you have to give her credits for her great knockers!'

'Cut it out, Draco!'

'I mean, Tracey's as flat as a pancake, and your sister, Leo-' Draco visibly flinched, apparently reconsidering. 'Well, I just can't think about her that way. But Greengrass not only got volu-'

'I'm warning you, Draco!' barked Leo, looking extremely uncomfortable. 'I'm not going to take the heat for you another time.'

'Another time? What are you talking about?'

'Forget it!'

Harry silently followed their quick-tempered exchange. In a way, he was glad for Draco's crude choice of topic because it meant that all he had to do was nod and sip on the drink Cranky had stealthily offered him. The others hadn't even noticed, and that was perfectly fine because – frankly – Harry didn't feel like partaking in that conversation of theirs, or any conversation at all, for that matter.

'You alright, mate?' asked Draco out of the blue.

Harry looked up, surprised. Sadly, it seemed like some kind of conclusion regarding Daphne's figure had been reached. Had he really been so obviously blanking out? 'What? Oh, I'm fine. Just tired.'

'If you say so,' said Draco, doubt leaking from every word.

Harry shrugged.

Leo looked from Harry to Draco, somewhat taken aback by his cousin's reaction. 'Shouldn't we be heading over? The girls might get angry, you know.'

'Wonder what that's like,' remarked Draco sarcastically.

'You could've just asked out another girl before Amy had the chance...' said Leo with an exasperated sigh.

'I had a date! But she suddenly told me she didn't want to go with me any longer!'

'Who was it?'

'Parkinson,' grumbled Draco.

'Well, you might get better results with your dates if you stopped talking about their breasts as soon as they're out of earshot,' said Harry, rolling his eyes.

'Then what's the point of them having any?!'

'You're annoying, Draco. Please, just shut up.'

'That's just because Greengrass keeps shoving hers into your face all the ti-'

'SHUT UP!' yelled Harry.

Draco and Leo stared at him, as did a few guests all around them. Confronted with the widening enclosure of silence all around him, Harry's eyes widened a bit with realisation. 'Look, I'm sorry, Draco.'

'Er, no problem, mate.' With a grin, Draco added, 'Didn't know Greengrass' boobies were such a heavy topic for you.'

In his head, Harry silently counted to five. 'Are you quite done?' he asked angrily.

Draco shrugged, grin still plastered all over his face. 'Meh – for now, I guess.'

'Come on, guys,' said Leo apprehensively, pointing towards the beautifully set table their company was sitting around, apparently engrossed in a conversation of their own. Amy and Daphne were, Harry corrected himself. Tracey, somehow managing to appear lonely whilst surrounded by her friends, looked moony.

Amy had gone for a formal and decidedly conservative set of umber robes. Daphne, by stark contrast, was wearing a truly stunning and rather daring, figure-hugging silken dress of silver and green. Surprisingly, Harry now felt rather lenient towards Draco's vulgar excitement from earlier; Daphne really did look amazing, shining like a Slytherin-coloured jewel in the gloom of the candle-lit hall. To his slight surprise, Tracey was actually wearing a dress as well. Nothing as extravagant, bold or eye-catching as Daphne, but the short and simple teal dress looked surprisingly good on her.

'Harry!' gushed Daphne excitedly, tackling him with a rapturous hug.

'Daphne. Good evening, girls. I'm glad you could make it,' said Harry over Daphne's shoulder and with a polite nod. Daphne's lingering embrace sadly prevented him from observing the niceties of custom and tradition, so this would have to suffice.

'Hey, Harry!' said Amy.

'Hullo,' muttered Tracey with something vaguely akin to a smile.

'Come on, let's take a seat, Daphne,' said Harry. 'Grandfather is sure to address the guests in a few minutes.'

'Oh, right! And inviting them to open the first dance...' Her voice trailed off very softly as she beamed at him expectantly.

'Don't look at me like that,' he said with a chuckle and an exasperated little smile. 'Officially, Leo is your companion for the dance, so you'll have to share this very first dance with him at least.'

'I knew that!' said Daphne, looking a shade embarrassed.

'Wait, that means I actually _have_ to dance with you?' asked Tracey, squirming uncomfortably in her seat.

'I'm afraid so.'

'But I've never danced at the ball!'

'That's because you either came as the daughter of a guest or because you went with Daphne,' explained Harry, trying to sound reasonable.

'But I can't dance!'

'Maybe Daphne can give you a few tips? You still have loads of time!'

'How long?' she asked hesitantly.

'Er, about fifteen minutes.'

'I don't dance!'

'Maybe we should get your mother's opinion on this?' quipped Draco from the sidelines, grinning evilly.

Tracey hung her head. 'I...hate you sometimes, Draco!'

'I understand you're looking forward to the dance,' said Leo with an enigmatic smile. 'Please treat my sister well.'

Draco's smile froze.

'We'll have so much fun!' said Amy excitedly. 'I hope you don't mind I picked my spikiest lady's shoes for tonight! Hope you're wearing sturdy footwear!'

'Harry?' The Malfoy heir hissed from the corner of his mouth, smiling boldly at Amy. 'You know a charm to toughen leather, don't you?'

'I'm sorry, I just don't seem to recall,' replied Harry ruminatively, deciding that he hadn't quite forgiven Draco's lecherous comments after all.

'Ladies and Gentlemen,' the voice of his grandfather interrupted their spiel. 'Esteemed Minister, honoured guests, dear friends and family members-'

'Family member,' someone called from the table behind Harry to barely audible sniggering all around.

Arcturus' smile seemed to widen a bit, despite the rude heckling. '-I would like to take this opportunity to give you my heartfelt welcome...'

Harry had trouble concentrating on his grandfather's words. It was always the same anyway, greet the important guests in the right order, make a few remarks appropriate for the occasion, close the speech with a few light remarks to set a mellow mood. Once upon a time, Sirius had bragged that he could hold such a speech even after a dozen pints of ale. As a child, Harry had found his boastful godfather hilarious, but today he could see how the words might have held some resentment, too.

Harry allowed his mind to wander as his eyes swept across the hall. Even Lucius, who usually delegated all tasks concerning social events to his wife, was present, sitting stiffly at a table with a few other people Harry identified as belonging to the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

Leo had been right; most of his family seemed to be present, which – if Harry's memory didn't fail him – he'd only ever witnessed once, shortly before he'd officially taken his place as Arcturus' heir.

The vast majority understood family as a simple word with a very definite denotation. Harry, as a Black, had a somewhat different and rather differentiated concept of family by necessity.

To most, family was a fated bond with people of your blood.

To some, it meant legacy.

But not to the Blacks.

Glancing over to the source of the steady stream of soft hissing and cursing, his eyes found Druella Rosier, whom the entire British high society knew better as the Fuming Devil (though none but the most suicidal of witches or wizards ever called the infamously snarky and vicious woman that to her face). She was bickering madly with the rest of the Rosier clan, especially one particular grandniece of hers that leant a bit too casually against the wall, parading her disinterest for all to see.

And right next to the bored Rosier heiress stood...

Harry blinked, his eyebrows creasing. _What the bloody hell was_ she _doing here?!_

Thankfully, the Black Ball was attended by a very vocal minority of ancient witches and wizards who didn't hold to such nonsense as total quiet and remaining seated. Ignoring the indignant looks of both his friends and the nearest guests, Harry quietly got up and shuffled over to the right-most corner of the room, squeezing through the mass of people, all of whom looked at him in annoyance, almost as if they had been _really_ listening to a word his grandfather had said.

Harry scowled. Sometimes, he really could understand Hermione's frustration; those wilting, wizened, waistcoat-wearing weasels wanted nothing more than to publicly destroy his family, and yet they thought him _rude_ for interrupting their chance to express polite indifference and disdain for his grandfather.

The rest of the way, Harry trod on a few more shoes than strictly necessary, making it a point to apologise loudly and extensively every time.

People finally made way for him after some time. It really was a pity though; he'd just spotted Susan Bones standing next to her aunt. He wouldn't have minded accidentally flattening her pretty court shoe, but – then again – maybe it was better to not intentionally anger and provoke the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement.

'Stepping on toes, I see?' whispered Aenor with a wink when he'd finally arrived.

'What are you doing here?' he hissed back. 'Didn't you say you wouldn't make it?'

She shrugged, taking a sip from her glass. Her other hand, almost unnoticed even by Harry, who stood directly in front of her, flicked her wand – a privacy charm. 'I did. But then someone managed to deprive me of my little project in the forest.' Her head was still directed towards the orator in the centre of the hall, but she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. 'Do you, by any chance, remember me telling you repeatedly to be careful and not do anything foolish?'

'Couldn't have dropped a hint, maybe, that you knew exactly what we were dealing with, could you?' Harry replied bitterly.

But Aenor just shrugged. 'How was I to know you'd do something so foolhardy? Also, it's not like you _asked_ , you know? Anyway, since I don't have anything better to do tonight, I thought I'd have a few free drinks on your family.'

'You didn't even dress up,' said Harry reproachfully, indicating her ordinary navy-blue robes.

'Blue goes with anything! Lamenting the fact that you couldn't see me all dressed up again?' she added with a provocative smile. 'I'm just taking a bit of a break from grading, really.'

Harry flicked his tongue, ignoring her question because the answer was probably yes. 'Anyway, since your little game of hide and seek is over, can you at least now answer a few questions?'

Aenor shrugged, taking another sip, her head still facing Arcturus. 'I suppose.'

'When did you realise you were being hunted by the Lethifolds I summoned last Yule?' Harry demanded, ashamed and angry at the same time.

'Well, I first suspected when they followed us to my little abode off the coast. You wouldn't know, but that place is warded against some of the bolder denizens of the sea, and the wards were going haywire the entire time. But I had proof the moment I set foot on the mainland. I originally planned that detour to have my mysterious assailant meet a tragic accident. Remember that I told you about what I thought to be a break-in? I was quite annoyed.'

Harry glared at his shoes. _What good does it do to be angry with her?! I'm the stupid one!_

'Frankly,' she went on with a pitying tone, 'I was convinced you'd finally understand when you met me directly after my one day trip. You know, the only time the weather somewhat improved was, by chance, exactly the day I wasn't in Scotland?'

Harry raised his head. Aenor was, while still not exactly turning his way, giving him a look somewhere between pity and amusement. 'If you'd followed the Muggle news, you might also have realised that a few dozen Dutch fishermen mysteriously vanished at the end of last summer, incidentally around the time we were in the vicinity. They followed me to my next stop further east too.'

'I couldn't have known where you went to, though,' Harry protested angrily.

She just shrugged. 'I suppose not.'

'And after that?' he demanded, resigning himself to hear the full extent of his incompetence.

'Well, I raided the Hogwarts library in an effort to find out more.'

'You did that?! We thought the topic had been purged!' Harry exclaimed hotly.

'It was. But I went and picked up the crumbs, so to speak. I even left the books in my private study. You saw me reading them, remember?'

Harry stared at her, feeling his face go red with embarrassment. _Bloody hell!_

'Anyway, Dumbledore was keeping a close eye on the whole situation after your little adventure in the forest.'

At this point, Harry had to take a deep breath and avert his eyes.

'Oh, yes, he knew. That's why the Aurors arrived so suddenly that very weekend. Can't say I blame him. If the Lethifolds had gotten you, your grandfather would've levelled the castle, I imagine.'

Harry looked up at her through his fingers. It seemed at least that she didn't know about their family's connection to the Lethifolds... _Speaking of which!_ 'Do you have any idea how they came back?!'

'Now there's finally a question that isn't dull or full of self-pity,' she said with a smirk. 'I thought about that too, but you were so reluctant to share anything about that spell of yours. I suppose that hasn't changed since?'

Harry shook his head, watching her closely.

'Pity! Well, this is all purely theoretical – hypothetical, really, since I can only make daring assumptions about the underlying principles. But I assume you used magic to...call them forth, didn't you?'

Harry returned her questioning look with utter blankness. 'Alright,' she conceded, raising her hands. 'Forget I asked. Anyway, assuming this all hasn't been your intention from the very start, I can only see it going one way; all manners of summoning usually require a subject, an object, a gate, and – in case the summoning isn't permanent – an amount of magic proportional to the intended length of the summoning. Usually, that gateway also functions as an anchor of sorts. I suppose you falsely identified your contract runes as the anchor to keep them in this world?'

Very slowly, Harry nodded.

'Well, I can see how you'd come to that conclusion, but you probably overlooked something right from the start. You see, I didn't banish your cute little pets from the mansion back then. No, I'm quite sure I actually destroyed them. Mind you, they were much weaker at the time, before they started feasting on hundreds and hundreds of creatures and men.'

'Thank you for reminding me,' muttered Harry darkly.

Aenor only rolled her eyes, taking another sip from what gave off a hint of orange and – predictably – a bit more than a hint of juniper. 'Don't be such a cissy, Harry. Anyway, you should've started thinking why they came back. The gate, the anchor if you prefer that terminology, probably slipped your notice. Before arriving at the ball, I thoroughly cleansed the duelling chamber, by the way – with the permission of your grandfather, naturally. Not saying they weren't interesting objects of study, but I think considering how it all turned out, it might be best to draw the line here.'

For a few seconds, they stood in silence, watching the muted figure of Lord Black addressing the solemn crowd.

'What makes you think they were the same Lethifolds, anyway?' she asked unexpectedly.

'What?' stammered Harry.

'It's not like they introduced themselves, did they? Lethifolds are known and rumoured to be many things, but loquacious certainly isn't one such thing. It's not like they speak, do they?' She chuckled, taking another sip.

'Yes, of course, they don't,' Harry agreed feebly, his mind racing.

'My point is that it's not entirely certain they were the same, is it? Maybe they were just attracted to the ones you summoned last year? Who knows?! I don't even know if they're capable of intelligence...'

Harry's throat felt as dry as a desert, so he took a generous sip from his glass. It also soothed his nerves a bit. 'So...what were you researching, then?'

'Oh, their mind attacks. Fascinating creatures, really, extraordinary even! Imagine what one could do with powers like theirs...'

Grimacing, Harry emptied his glass. He could imagine.

'More importantly, how are you holding up?' she asked unexpectedly, fully turning around to look at him at last.

'Fine,' he said automatically.

'You don't say,' she said with another brief smirk. 'You don't seem fine to me, but oh well.'

'I said I'm fine!'

'Listen, Harry, I'm not asking just to be given the same crappy excuse of a lie you give all those fools out there.'

Harry sighed, about to take another sip before he remembered the desolate state of emptiness his glass was in. With a flick of his tongue, he clicked his fingers and had Cranky refill it.

'Incidentally, what is it you're drinking?' asked Aenor curiously.

'Butterbeer with a lacing of rum, Miss Rose,' answered Cranky faithfully. 'Would the Miss like to try it as well?'

Aenor shook her head and waited until the old elf vanished again. 'Anyway, we were talking about how you're coping.'

'I thought we were done with that already,' Harry returned stiffly.

'No, we're not. Truth now!'

Harry scowled, taking another sip, his eyes flickering from Aenor to the crowd of fools they'd invited into their home, fools who'd sentence him to death – him, his grandfather, and his present company – should they ever learn the whole truth.

'I...' He clung to his glass, mouth partially opened, desperately struggling to find the right words. 'I'm ashamed,' he confessed in a low voice.

'Ashamed?' she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

'I...I something's wrong with me!' he practically shouted, turning around to stare at the witch beside him. 'I know what I did was inexcusable. I know I should've been more careful! I...I know those people died because of my idiocy.'

'Debatable,' said Aenor expressionlessly. 'But do go on.'

'I didn't mean to kill them,' said Harry impatiently, clutching the glass so tightly that it hurt. 'But that doesn't mean it wasn't my fault.'

'I see,' muttered Aenor. Her eyes bore into him, dissecting him as if he lay on a slab in front of her. 'So you think you need to take re-'

But Harry cut her off. 'But that's not what I'm ashamed of,' he whispered, taking another desperate gulp to seek bravery through intoxication.

'It isn't?' said Aenor, looking surprised.

'I...' He looked around, his eyes lingering on the styled mane of hair of his cousin that he could make out even from where he stood. 'I feel so empty,' he admitted, in a hushed tone of dread. 'I'm terrified that I risked my family, terrified that I did something that might harm us, inconsolable over how I endangered those who sought to help, demeaned by how...how everything turned out because I wasn't clever enough, fast enough, knowledgeable enough.'

He looked up, up into those light blue eyes that observed him attentively.

'But no matter what, I don't feel half as bad about all those who died like cattle in the streets,' he confessed, feeling sick. 'And that thought makes my stomach turn.'

Aenor was still staring at him as the clapping broke out. Arcturus' speech must have ended, but neither of them made the least effort to partake. Two people – rocks in a sea of polite cheering – jade green on icy blue.

Eventually, the crowd was still proclaiming its very limited enthusiasm, Aenor delicately licked her lips. 'Do you know what guilt is, Harry?'

He wrinkled his brow in confusion.

'Guilt, Harry, is what fools feel instead of responsibility. Do you feel responsible for what happened?'

'In parts,' he said slowly.

'There is no "in parts",' she cut him off impatiently, putting down her drink. 'Listen, you're either responsible, or you're not.'

When he looked at her with obvious doubt, she narrowed her eyes. 'Did you intend to slaughter thousands of Muggles and Wizards?'

'No?' he croaked, alarmed.

'Was it even possible to foresee such an event coming to pass as a consequence of our spar last year?'

He stared at her. 'I...guess not?'

'Then your path is clear.' When he just gazed at her, she sighed impatiently, taking up her drink again. 'Even if your actions lacked far-sightedness, lingering fear or guilt is a critical weakness, Harry. Kill it!'

He took a step back, blinking. 'What, you mean...?'

'What else did you take Occlumency for if not coping with the horrible? If you believe you aren't responsible, you have no need of those feelings. Kill them! Most weaknesses are nothing to be ashamed of – they make us human. But guilt over spilled wine...or blood...won't help you move forward; guilt can destroy men and dreams, Harry, and some dreams are too great, too good to give up over a few stains of red.'

The crowd started to move, gushing towards the middle of the room like a tide finally free of the dam, seizing Harry in its wake. He was still staring motionlessly at her.

'Oh,' she added, taking another sip as the privacy charm broke, nodding towards the dance floor. 'And do something about Davis. She's looking even worse than you.'

'Is that concern?' he half asked half shouted to make himself heard.

She just shook her head. 'A matter of safety for you.'

 _~BLVoD~_

The current of enthused witches and wizards washed him, as if by magic, ashore directly at Tracey's feet. The slender witch looked gloomily at the floor, barely acknowledging his arrival.

'Where were you?' asked Daphne from the side, standing next to Leo.

'Having a talk,' he replied uneasily, glancing at Tracey, who was determinedly looking away.

Daphne was about to challenge his flimsy attempt to evade her inquiry when Leo held out his hand. 'Would you give me the honour of this dance, Daphne?' he asked ceremonially, bowing politely.

'What? Oh, ahem, yes, of course.'

With a polite little curtsey, she took his hand and let herself be led towards the dance floor.

Harry watched them walk away until their figures vanished in the crowd. Eventually, he turned to look at Tracey, who was still facing away from him.

'I don't want to dance,' she mumbled sullenly.

'But we really should,' he said with a bit of a helpless grin. 'At least this one dance.'

'I don't feel like dancing!'

'I can relate,' he admitted. 'I never do.'

Tracey gave a snort and finally looked up. 'I can't dance!' she went on complaining. 'I don't think I'll remember Daphne's tips one bit!'

'We'll go slow, and I'll lead. No Transfiguration Mastery is required, I assure you.'

She looked up at him, her golden eyes petulant _and_ beseeching. 'I don't dance,' she repeated insistently, though her voice seemed to have lost a bit of iciness.

'Come on,' he said, taking her hand, ignoring her protests. 'We've already had the honour, remember?' When she cutely wrinkled her brow in confusion, he mimicked both of their hands writing the still very familiar motion of the runes.

Despite herself, Tracey gave another snort of amusement. 'That wasn't a dance!'

'But it was,' he said with a teasing smile. Deciding to push a bit further, he continued, 'Considering you've already lost your dancing innocence, you might as well roll with it.'

'You're a prick!' she grumbled. He noticed that she had finally stopped trying to wiggle her hand free. 'Fine,' she mumbled, sighing heavily. 'Let's just get on with it. And don't you dare complain when I mess up!'

'Wouldn't dream of it.'

Despite her flimsy protests, Harry dragged Tracey towards the middle of the floor, with people making way for them. Laying one hand on her waist – and ignoring her twitch – he said, 'Well, here goes nothing.'

Tracey nodded grimly, gawping at their feet with a look of intense concentration, causing Harry to laugh as he led her into a turn.

'Stop laughing,' she hissed, her head jerking up to glare at him as she viciously trod his feet in retaliation.

'I'm sorry,' he said, still smirking unrepentantly. 'But I've never seen you so serious before. You'd think you were dancing to save your life!'

'I don't want to embarrass myself, you jerk!' she snarled, looking around stealthily.

'Relax, Tracey. Just give in to the music. See?' he said, after a few moments without the _un_ intentional stepping on toes. 'You haven't looked at your feet ever since you decided to glare at me so fiercely.'

For a second, Tracey appeared bewildered, but then she looked around again, saw her parents dancing close by, and lowered her gaze to stare at her feet again.

Harry rolled his eyes, stifling his laughter this time. 'I'm surprised you decided to go with a dress,' he said just to make conversation. 'I believe this is the first time you haven't attended wearing robes.'

Her head shot up again, looking at him, mistrustful. 'Daphne insisted so she wouldn't look too out of place.'

Harry's gaze wandered for a second to his left where Leo and Daphne were twirling, talking animatedly.

'And I'm ever so sorry for not having the same _effect_ as Daphne!' remarked Tracey coldly, following his gaze.

'Not at all,' he said earnestly. 'Actually, I rather think it suits you.'

Her aureate eyes narrowed, but confronted with his genuine smile, she faltered a bit, stumbling, nearly bringing the both of them down. 'Thanks – I guess.'

'You're welcome.'

Tracey stared at him, agonising. Harry just smiled politely and continued to lead them as best he could, steering them subtly away from those he knew would make her nervous.

'How come you can be like this?' she demanded suddenly. 'Normally you're all nervous and awkward with girls, even us, and then – like flipping a switch – you can be all suave and stuff.'

Harry returned her gaze. Remembering how much the witch in front of him hated dishonesty, he chose to shoot for a bit of truth. 'It got a lot easier since last year, but even before that, I could do it if I really wanted.' Forseeing her indignant protest, he added, 'It just wasn't very honest.'

'So you're just pretending, is that it?' she muttered, seemingly offended.

'Before – definitely; now – about half-half, I'd say,' he returned with a laugh.

'Oh.' She looked away again, though not at her feet, he noticed. 'They're gone, aren't they?' she breathed, leaning a bit closer.

Harry knew they weren't talking about dancing or girls anymore. 'I think so.'

'Good.' She relaxed a bit, and after a few seconds, another thought seemed to occur to her. 'Anyway, can you do me a favour?'

'Hm?'

'Can you please, please compliment Daphne on her dress? She's developed a bit of a trauma about you ignoring her, and she won't shut up about it. If you don't say anything, I'll have to suffer her whining for weeks again!'

'Oh,' he said, chuckling awkwardly. 'I, er, guess I could.'

'And how honest will that compliment be?' she asked challengingly, raising her chin.

'About half-half, I'd venture,' he said with a bit of a smirk.

 _~BLVoD~_

Taking as much time as he dared, Harry weaved his way through the throng of twisting couples. _Merlin, who would've thought that one compliment would set her off like that!_

And indeed, ever since Harry had given Daphne the compliment he'd promised Tracey, the Greengrass heiress had positively stuck to his side, despite his protests that he didn't want to dance or any subtle or not so subtle attempts to keep a bit of distance.

In addition to his clingy cousin, he was also desperately evading Rita Skeeter, who had briefly spotted him as he'd left to get drinks – or rather to get away for a few moments. He wasn't afraid of giving an interview or anything, but there was no doubt that nothing good could come of it, in the end.

Making his way around a few older, pipe-smoking witches, he nearly crashed into a foreign-looking man in his fifties wearing loose robes of striking orange and red. 'I'm sorry, sir,' he muttered, trying to take his leave as soon as possible, just in case Skeeter was still on his heels.

'Halt! Just one second, young man!'

Reluctantly, Harry came to a stop, his eyes scanning the crowd, on the lookout for any sign of devious reporters.

'Well met, my youthful fellow,' the man said with a rough accent. 'Am I right in assuming you are Arcturus' boy?'

With a sigh, Harry concluded that if this person was on speaking terms with his grandfather, he'd never be able to get away from his conversation.

 _But 'well met, my youthful fellow'? Ye gods!_

Giving the man another once over, he noticed the effortless posture, the knowing smile, and – curiously – the scar that ran from his brow down to his chin, forcing the man to squint through one of his eyes. 'Yes, my lord,' he returned, bowing politely. 'Though I cannot say I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance yet...?'

'Oh, we'll have none of that!' the man said with a beaming smile. 'You just call me Pepa! My, but what a strapping young lad you turned out to be. Arcturus must be proud!'

'I suppose so...Pepa? I appreciate your kind words,' returned Harry, trying to place the accent. _Eastern Europe? No, not quite._

'Ah, but I see I'm holding you up, my boy! Looking for your fine, young lady, perhaps?' he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

'Er, I'm getting drinks for the both of us,' Harry returned honestly because there just didn't seem to be anything else to say.

'Good chap! The blonde, is it? A fine young lady if ever I saw one. Enjoy the evening, lad, and be sure to treat her right!'

'I will, thank you,' said Harry, adumbrating a bow.

The man returned the bow, rather respectfully so, and turned around to greet another acquaintance. With a shrug, Harry continued his journey to the table where the elves perpetually refilled drinks. He could, of course, have just summoned Cranky to do it, but that would beat the whole point of the exercise. With grim satisfaction, he realised that the queue was quite long.

'Have you heard that dreadful gossip about the Prewetts, dear?' an elderly woman in front of him said to her equally ancient friend next to her. 'My word, I just couldn't believe my ears!'

'I say!' the other witch returned, holding one hand in front of her mouth in an appropriate show of mild horror and palpable glee. 'I've always thought there was something nasty about the man.'

'Really? And here I thought you worshipped the ground he walks on!'

'I won't deny he's got a boyish charm to him, but that business with his wife? Awful!'

'You really believe it, then?'

'Oh, I'm sure he didn't kill her, you know these stories get blown out of proportion. But – as they say – accidents happen, don't they? You have to admit it's fishy how Lucretia "got sick" so suddenly that she died two days later. I never knew her to be so frail.'

'A colleague of mine always said the man had a temper. My grandnephew told me he practically shouted everyone out of his class when some poor girl confronted him with the rumour, tossing furniture and all.'

'How horrible!' the other woman cooed.

Harry had always wondered just what catharsis felt like; now, he had a pretty good idea. In a decidedly better mood, he returned, the two promised drinks in his hands.

'Took you long enough!' said Amy, grabbing one and offering the other to Daphne, who looked a bit disappointed but took it nevertheless.

'Where were you?' she asked sulkily.

'The queue was incredible – incredibly long, I mean!' he said, correcting himself at the last moment. 'I also had to evade Skeeter. Merlin, that woman is like a hound.'

'On the prowl, you mean,' interjected Draco, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

'You're disgusting, Malfoy. You know that?' said Daphne conversationally, taking a sip, idly playing with her straw. 'She didn't get you, did she?'

'Thankfully no.' With a sigh, Harry sat down.

Daphne immediately sat down next to him. 'Are you thirsty? We can share if you want,' she said with a smile, offering him her straw.

Ignoring Amy's amused look, Harry sat up straight. 'Oh, no, thank you, Daphne. I'm good.'

To his slight relief, Leo chose this moment to get his attention. 'Hey, Harry. Have a look to your left, two tables down.'

Curiously, Harry looked up. 'Hm? Whe- Hey, isn't that Dora? I thought you said she wouldn't come?!'

'So she said. I spoke to her only yesterday. Apparently, she's been drafted into another unit or something.'

'Who's the black person next to her?' asked Tracey curiously.

'I don't believe I've ever seen her before,' said Harry.

'Anyway,' said Daphne reproachfully, 'you shouldn't spend so much time with the adults.'

'What do you mean?' asked Harry, honestly confused. 'You know I need to welcome at least some of them. I'm Grandfather's heir, and it's expected of me!'

'It's just...' said Daphne, struggling for the right words, 'you're getting unrealistic expectations!'

'Unrealistic expectations...?' Harry repeated, completely perplexed. Draco and Leo too looked out of it for once. Tracey, by contrast, simply rolled her eyes.

'Emeric's Evil Eye, I don't even know what your problem is,' said Amy, chucking down her drink in one go. 'When I stand next to you, I always feel like a stable boy next to the princess, Daphne.'

'Stable _boy_?' repeated Daphne incredulously.

'I know what I said,' said Amy, nodding at Daphne's dress. 'Not that I particularly care, but maybe you should learn to see things in perspective.'

'Maybe this isn't a conversation we need to have _right now_ , is it?' said Tracey urgently, just as Daphne was about to answer.

'Oh, don't mind us!' said Draco enthusiastically. 'Please, do go on!'

'Shut up, Draco!' snarled Tracey.

Draco laughed, shuffling closer. 'Well, I see why you would be worried, Tracey. Looking around, I can't help but noti-'

'Amy,' said Tracey sweetly. 'I think Draco wants to have another go at dancing!'

In the end and after twenty minutes of begging, Draco was spared another round of Amy's 'I-stab-your-feet-game'. How exactly he could have danced, hobbling like he did, would have been quite another question, of course. For some mysterious reason, Draco soon excused himself – pointedly polite, especially towards Amy – wincing as he slowly made his way across the floor towards the Floo.

 _~BLVoD~_

It was getting late.

Harry, despite his protests, soon found himself not only sharing a dance with Amy, but also Tonks, who enthusiastically told him of her recent promotion into a special program, and – naturally – Daphne, who seemed to think that every dance Harry shared with another woman automatically entitled her to the same.

If Harry was being honest with himself, it wasn't all that bad though. Amy was uncomplicated and as far from boring as it was possible to be, and he actually found himself enjoying their short dance, mostly because its objective seemed to be to politely piss off as many couples as possible, bumping into them at inopportune moments to cause maximum embarrassment.

And Daphne, well, truth be told, despite her overbearing nature, he couldn't even begin to get angry with her. It had always been like that. There was little doubt that he'd send any other girl who tried to smother him like that to hell. Daphne, however, had been the very person to first get him out of his shell, the first person to truly demand nothing of him except his attention in exchange for unwavering loyalty, adoration and the kind of human warmth he hadn't known since the Potters had died – not that he could remember that too well.

Still, he wasn't particularly upset when Tracey, Amy and Daphne vanished to discuss some 'lady business'. He shared a few drinks with Leo, who'd asked if he could try whatever Harry was having, observing with some amount of amusement as the rather uptight boy got progressively redder and just a tad more gassy with every round, ranting loudly about the obscenity of his cousin.

'Seriously, Draco's such a swine. I wouldn't care, but it's always me who pays for it! Knockers, boobies, bristols,' he slurred, just as a figure came to a sudden halt next to him, 'I swear I'm going t-'

'And what in Merlin's name is going on here?' hissed the bristling voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, to both Leo's and Harry's horror. With a dangerous look, she bowed down to give her son's drink a sniff.

'I only had that one!' prattled Leo, pointing at his half-full glass that coincidentally stood next to three empty ones.

'Harry?' demanded Bellatrix dangerously.

'Oh, er, yes! He only had that one,' he invented wildly, going along with Leo's stupid lie and hoping for the best. 'The others are mine. Didn't know he would handle it so badly.'

'Exactly!' said Leo with a lopsided grin. 'Harry's had the other three I didn't have!' he added, hiccuping helpfully.

Bellatrix stared at Harry, one hand grabbing the shoulder of her son rather tightly to make him finally shut up. Harry, for that matter, wished she'd done so a few seconds earlier.

'Up!' she commanded. 'Out! We'll talk about this tomorrow. And you,' she said, pointing her finger at Harry, 'you better hope I don't accidentally tell your grandfather!'

'Come on, Auntie! I didn't know you were such a prude philistine!'

The second the words had left his mouth, Harry, with a strange rush of horror that was only vaguely connected to his aunt's scary expression, sobered up as quickly as if he'd taken a dive into ice water. Bellatrix, one hand still gripping the shoulder of her otherwise softly swaying son, stared at him, motionless like a predator ready to pounce. After a few seconds of tension, she turned around. 'Do as you like.'

Without another word, she forcefully dragged Leo out of the hall, presumably towards the Floo. Harry shrugged, sighing contentedly as he nibbled on his drink. Sliding down in his chair a bit, he observed the comings and goings from his now empty table, watching with amusement as some of the younger crowd scared off the older couples. In contrast to last year, quite a few fellow schoolmates of his seemed to be attending. He followed the movements of Padma Patil dancing with a boy maybe two years their elder with idle interest – until the girl noticed his gaze and waved diffidently at him.

'Already cheating on Greengrass?'

Surprised, Harry looked up. Aenor had taken a seat in front of him, smiling smugly.

'Will you stop with that nonsense?' he asked, irritated. 'It's getting a bit old. And what about you? Didn't you say you only stopped by for a few drinks?'

'What can I say? The drinks are good! You seem to know what I'm talking about,' she added, pointing towards the assembled glasses on the table.

'Only half of those are mine,' he replied with a shrug. 'Anyway, you don't need to pretend; I saw you making nice with loads of people.' What Harry neglected to reveal was that he'd kept an eye on her most of the evening, unsure if he wanted to talk with her or not. He knew that he shouldn't try to find faults in her conduct, especially considering his own epic stupidity. But then again, anger wasn't always something you could just turn off – at least, unless you were willing to resort to the Mind Arts, something Harry wasn't even considering on principle right now.

'Yeah, well, I'm taking a break from that. As useful as contacts are, it's also unfathomably dull to listen to these people complain about their petty little lives or the newest gossip. Good job besmirching Prewett, by the way,' she said with a grin, raising her glass.

'Thanks!' he replied, flashing a smirk before he reminded himself that he was angry.

It really seemed like a shame not to raise his glass to Prewett's little scandal, though, so he did just that.

In silence, they watched people dance, talk behind each other's backs, forge alliances, plan deceits, and enter contracts. Harry, however, was deep in thought, not even paying attention when one of the degenerated Notts some dunderhead had invited made a spectacular fool of himself by insulting the next best Muggle-born, who – incidentally – turned out to be the Secretary-General to the French Minister for Magic.

No, now that Aenor was silently sitting at his table, apparently enjoying the break from the meaningless prattle, he couldn't help feeling his thoughts return to their earlier conversation.

A shiver ran down his spine.

Kill the guilt.

Was that even a human thing to do? How broken would a human being need to be to even consider doing so? True, it might solve his problems, for now at least, but what would become of him if he ever went down that road. His family was ruthless; he held no illusions, but until now he had never really doubted that – still – they were...humane – in their odd sense; brutal, relentless, unforgiving, at times cruel – yes – but ultimately human.

His grandfather, as cold as he could be, as cold as he had been when he had decided to let Harry follow through with the mistakes that cost thousands of people their lives, had often told Harry how much he regretted the path their family had had to take as a consequence of Arcturus' father's actions. Not to mention that his iron determination to protect and nurture all those he counted among his family was at least as warm as his fury was cold towards those who wronged them.

But killing his guilt...?

For the first time, Harry considered talking to his Grandfather about the aftermath of his...error in judgement, as he'd come to think of it, forced himself to think of it. So far, he'd shied away from the man, partially – he admitted at least to himself – because, yet again for the first time, he realised that the Black's credo of responsibility at any price and Arcturus' will to protect his family were not necessarily overlapping interests. In a dark corner of his mind, he couldn't help wondering which belief his grandfather would ultimately choose if ever he was forced to pick one over the other.

Hadn't he already?

 _Then again_ , another voice in his mind that sounded a bit like Regulus told him, _maybe he believes that learning whatever lesson there was to be learned would be for your own good_. _Freedom, after all, is nothing without the freedom to face the consequences of your actions._

Harry shook his head, trying to think of something else as he took another sip, his eyes again lingering on the witch in front of him.

In a way, he thought, Aenor was the antithesis to Daphne.

Where Aenor was cold and pragmatic, Daphne was emotional and empathic. Daphne, he was sure, wouldn't turn from him if he told her what he'd done. Tracey couldn't, he knew, ignoring the turning of his stomach and putting the glass down, but Daphne wouldn't – not because of obligations, but because she'd never leave him unless he made her leave.

Daphne, despite the tragic disaster of her childhood and family, represented something humane, something good, something unbroken. For some reason or another, that tenacious girl had managed to, well, keep the innocence of her being unscathed. Despite watching her mother getting unjustly beat to the point of being unrecognisable; despite hearing her father die screaming in the flames; despite her grandmother stealing her name, her childhood, her family; despite Esmerelle's best attempts to cut her off him, Daphne was ultimately still undamaged at the core.

Obsessive, bordering on fanatical, maybe, but in the end, she was still an innocent girl that craved warmth and was more than willing to share it with her family and those she loved.

She was...insouciant – and Harry couldn't bring himself to take that from her. Maybe Ophala couldn't either.

Dully, Harry stared at his empty glass.

 _And what about you, Harry James Black. Are you undamaged? Are you unbroken, untainted? Nevermind your latest failure_ , the voice in his head went on, _don't you think it's strange how Daphne, the strong and overbearing girl you know, shirks any confrontation with Prewett, the murderer of her father? How she comes to you or Tracey whenever it's all too much for her?_

 _And what about you?_

 _Do you confess your fears to someone? You don't._

 _Do you shirk confrontations with those you hate or fear? Quite the opposite, isn't it? Isn't there always the boiling rage, the desire to just give in?_

Frozen, Harry stared at the glass.

 _Lie to whomever you want, but you need not deceive yourself! Don't pretend to have forgotten the dreams of violence...of justice._

Harry gripped the glass so tightly that his hand quivered.

 _You're damaged goods, Harry. You've faced the point of no return and took a step to have a look._

'Harry?'

Harry gave a start. Aenor was giving him a queer look.

'Are you alright?'

'Just thinking,' he said slowly, avoiding her eyes.

'If you say so.'

Once again, they sat in silence.

The world, or so it seemed to Harry, was turning without him. There they were, the normal people, the people who hadn't accidentally killed hundreds of thousands of innocents, who could enjoy more than five minutes of their time without another forceful reminder of their shame. And here he was.

Despite his non-gregarious reticence, Aenor leant in a very relaxed if poised sort of way in her chair, watching with amusement and, Harry thought, disdain for those around them. He couldn't help agreeing with her antipathy.

She, at least, wasn't one of them.

'Say, do you want to dance?' He felt his mouth form the words, alcohol taking the place of common sense.

She turned around to look at him, surprised. 'I'm just wearing my Hogwarts robes!'

'Blue goes with anything, doesn't it?' he shot back, good-natured.

She gave a bark of incredulous laughter, not the mincing simper but the other one, the one he'd witnessed a few times before. 'Are you sure? Greengrass won't shut up about it, you know? Dumbledore will hear of it, too!'

'Do you particularly care?' he asked with a challenging smirk.

'Not particularly,' she replied with a grin of her own.

Ignoring the murmur and the gobsmacked faces of the Patil twins, Harry led the visibly amused Aenor to the dance floor. With perfect timing, the next tune started only seconds later – a slow waltz.

'You still owe me one answer, you know?' he said as they fell into the steps of the rhythm.

'I suppose I do,' she replied cockily, following his initiated rotation fluently and without any effort.

'What would you do,' he asked in a whisper, 'if I chose to inquire about your mysterious origin?'

She drew nearer, her lips nearly brushing against his ear. 'Whatever my answer to that may be, are you sure you want to hear it? Some words cannot be taken back.'

For a few moments, or so it seemed to Harry, both his heart and the movements of their waltz stopped entirely. 'You know,' he muttered, remembering Skeeter and all the other annoying people, even Hermione, always trying to dig up his past, 'I don't think I particularly care any longer. The fantastic mystery is always much more intriguing than plain truth, isn't it?'

Aenor drew back just enough to look at him, gazing into his eyes with a peculiar but utterly unreadable expression. 'Good choice...' she breathed, her full lips breaking into a smile.

A hand fell heavily on Harry's shoulder, and he gave a tremendous jump. 'I'm so sorry to interrupt,' said Bellatrix coolly, glaring at Aenor, who took a few smart steps back, 'but I have need of my nephew. If you'll excuse us?'

Unceremoniously, she shoved him towards the exit. Harry, nonplussed, shot a look over his shoulder towards Aenor, who still stood in the middle of the dance floor.

'What are you doing, Auntie?' he demanded angrily.

'We're having a congregation. Or rather, we're supposed to have one, but we can't until the _heir_ is in attendance. You can return to making sheep's eyes later.'

Harry gave a sort of cough before he composed himself. 'What congregation?! I don't know of any such thing!'

'Yes, well, I suppose that might explain why I had to come peel you off that trollop.'

Without another word, she led Harry up the stairs, past the first floor where many guests were enjoying private conversations, all the way up towards the third floor – into the private smoking lounge. A very select audience was waiting for him, seated in a circle. A few armchairs stood lonely and unoccupied.

'Ah, Harry – excellent. Come and join us!' Arcturus said, indicating the seat to his immediate right.

'Where in all the blazing hells _were_ you?!' demanded a sunken figure in a rattling voice, puffing indignantly and rapping a cheap pipe on the armrest of the next seat.

It took Harry a second to gather himself; he hadn't expected _this_.

'My apologies, Harry,' said Arcturus gently. 'It seems, with one thing and another, I forgot to tell you.'

'Where did you find him?' asked a shrouded figure who sat sear the door and whose pleasant voice he immediately placed.

'In the ballroom, about to kiss his teacher by the looks of it!' said Bellatrix with a scoff and to some amusement.

Harry's fought to keep a straight face. Some of the witches and wizards in attendance had hidden their faces with spells and veils – some had disguised their voices even. Sixteen seats in a fumy room, all waiting patiently for his grandfather to address them.

Sixteen seats, and yet only a handful showed their faces. And only two among them knew them all.

'I welcome you all. It does an old man's heart good to finally see you all again,' began Arcturus, opening his arms in greeting. 'You cannot imagine how much the necessity for this mummer's act pains me, but you have my word that, despite the manner of our meeting here tonight, I promise I shall listen to all of your concerns and proposals.'

Harry's stare was riveted to the eight obfuscated figures. For a second, his eyes lingered on the one near the door. The figure waved sneakily at him.

'Today, I have an important topic that demands our attention, a topic of such grave importance that I fear I have to insist on your vows. Nothing of what I'm about to tell you all can be allowed leave this room. I am, as some of you might have surmised, talking about the Greengrass situation...'

Harry's gaze sought out each of the attendants – mothers, politicians, workers, students, entrepreneurs... And no matter what name they wore in public, this – he reminded himself with a melancholic smile – was his family.

 _ **AN:** And we're back! See? Some people have accused me of not being able to close a chapter without some kind of cliffhanger or foreshadowing – ridiculous, I object most strongly!_

 _Next chapter: **Premonitions III**. _

_...Ah well, I tried._


	43. VoD: Premonitions III

**Premonitions III**

* * *

'I don't like this,' grumbled one of the voices who sat rather far away from Lord Black and his successor – to some approving nods all around. The person seemed to be shifting in his seat, nervously licking his lips. 'It doesn't seem right.'

'Can't we just do it differently? Maybe a spell?' asked the pleasant voice from earlier.

'Calumny, perhaps? Much harder to trace and a lot cleaner too,' proposed the first voice again, standing up.

'Yes,' drawled Bellatrix, who hadn't bothered with either veil or spell to hide her identity. 'You'd know all about libel, wouldn't you?'

Harry regarded the person in question expressionlessly. Narcissa, sitting to his right and disguised under an intricate set of spells, gave him a short pat on his back.

'I-I meant no disrespect. I'm sorry, Harry, you know I am! We've discussed this again and again, but we've all agreed to-'

'Despite the Prophet's best and earnest efforts to publicly vilify the family, especially our future Lord Black, this year's ball has drawn the attention of even more socialites than ever before,' said Narcissa primly, one hand now resting on Harry's shoulder. 'So I ask myself; is there really any point to it all?'

Bellatrix snorted haughtily. 'And it won't go that smoothly! There's a time when your precious cowardice serves its purpose – this isn't it!'

The first two attendees were about to protest angrily when Arcturus raised his hand. Silence followed immediately. 'Do you have any proposal as to how libel could achieve our goal – realistically?' he asked in a polite tone, nodding towards the first protester.

'Well, not yet. But if you'd only allow me to work on it, Lord Black... I assure you, it'd be my absolute top priority!'

'And how long would it, in your opinion, take to achieve our goal?'

'I promise you any person's image can be destroyed in a matter of weeks! It wouldn't take more than two or three years until all business connections and personal contacts are severed. I assure you, when I'm through with a person, even the rats will have a hard time bowing so low as to spit on him.'

'So much assurance is good to hear. And yet,' said Arcturus mildly, 'we find ourselves not quite having "two or three years" of time. Could you guarantee you'd achieve the desired results within one?'

'I promise I shall do my absolute bes-'

'Meaning you can't,' Bellatrix pointed out with a sneer. 'Spare us your grovelling.'

Arcturus waited for a few seconds, neither admonishing Bellatrix's outburst nor – apparently – seeing the need to speak at all. The silence seemed to press heavily on the protester, and – eventually – he sat down again with an air of defeat. 'There's still the possibility of charms or curses,' the man threw in weakly.

'What spellwork do you propose?' asked Harry, intrigued, speaking for the first time more out of academical curiosity than anything else. 'I'm by no means an Auror, but it seems to me that a mere _Confundus_ won't do the trick, will it?'

A few people exchanged uneasy glances until Bellatrix, again, raised her voice, this time with palpable amusement. 'How precious! But we all know which curse we're talking about. So, which one of you is willing to march into either the Ministry or the family seat of a noble line, cast the _Imperius_ with such prodigious potency that no manner of resistance is conceivable for nearly one year until all things are settled, and then escape undetected?'

'And even if we find someone mentally degraded enough for just that,' cackled an elderly voice farther to Harry's right, 'what then? Will the victim just take a sudden vacation and vanish along the way, or do we have to follow up one Unforgivable with the next? As much as I despise the man and his holier-than-thou twat of a wife, Longbottom is bound to notice something strange is afoot if we start dishing out Unforgivables on prominent citizens like cookies at Yule!'

'Maybe a potion?'

The old woman puffed a smoke ring, snorting dismissively. 'And how the ruddy hell would that work? Stick to thy last, paper-man!'

Arcturus, however, looked faintly interested, raising an eyebrow in the direction of the second speaker with the melodious voice.

The voice sighed audibly. 'Magical potions have the habit of turning up in examinations. I wouldn't recommend it. If Bones and Longbottom smell even a whiff of any elixir strong enough for our purpose, all hell will break loose at the Ministry.'

'Worse,' someone else pointed out, 'they may well unite in their rage.'

'Fine, whatever,' snapped the 'paper-man' angrily. 'If you're all so eager for assassinations, who am I to argue?!'

A few people twitched in their seats following this outburst. Harry glanced at his grandfather. Arcturus was still sitting comfortably in his seat, quite at ease, watching the family with polite interest and tranquillity. In the company of others, the Lord of the Blacks was no talker. Instead, from what Harry could tell, he seemed to prefer the arguments playing out in front of him, asking questions whenever necessary until a solution presented itself.

That Harry had figured out. What Harry _hadn't_ quite figured out was just how – each time – the resulting solution happened to be the one initially preferred by the sly old man sitting next to him.

'We are all open to suggestions here.' Arcturus' softly spoken words banished the silence like a mellow wind of spring. 'I promised I'd hear you all out, and if we find a better solution – well, all the better.'

Nodding towards the somewhat mollified man in the corner, he folded both of his hands in front of his face. 'So, are there any other suggestions, propositions, concerns, or enquir-'

The image of the smoky room vanished in an instant, and Harry gave an immense start as someone took a seat next to him, ripping him from his memories. It was Daphne. For a few seconds, Harry just stared at her, unblinking.

He wasn't proud of it, but he just couldn't bring himself to listen to his happy cousin, her beaming smile so at odds with the tense atmosphere of the meeting in his recollection. Some seconds later, Harry belatedly realised that not only Daphne but Tracey, Hermione, Leo and Draco had waddled in as well, dragging their heavy trunks behind them.

Daphne, not to be deterred, continued to gush excitedly about her 'coming' birthday. 'And you really need to come,' she said, smiling brightly. 'Gran's apparently given up on marrying me or Tori off, for now, so we'll have a quiet party. And I really mean it this time!'

'Isn't it still like half a year until your birthday, Greengrass?' asked Hermione, confused.

Harry, finally coming to his senses, opened the newspaper in his lap again.

The prominent headline of the page he'd opened, under a photo depicting the glamour and splendour of his festively decorated home, read:

'A Feast for the Fallen of the Night Raid – All you Need to Know about the Victory Ball!'

Daphne blushed a bit, gesturing wildly to dispel the embarrassment. 'I just thought I'd start planning early! Maybe we could go watch a play or something? Or eat at a fancy restaurant?'

Harry tried not to stare. _Doesn't she know yet? For heaven's sake, what are you doing, Ophala?_

Tracey, though still maybe a little more subdued than usual, seemed to have recovered fairly well from her depressed and lifeless state from Yule – to his relief. 'Are you sure this is going to be a birthday party and not a poorly disguised date?' She sniggered, poking fun at Daphne's loud and resolute insistence to the contrary.

Like a bolt of lightning, a particularly nasty thought struck Harry. _Tracey...! She'll completely lose it!_

'Anyway, I'm so relieved you're all well,' said Hermione with a smile. 'I was ever so worried when I heard the news. I'm glad you're all okay! Don't you live in London, Greengrass?'

'I, er, yeah,' said Daphne with an unhelpful glance at Harry. 'But we got out okay.'

'And you?' asked Hermione, looking at Tracey, Draco, Leo and Harry.

'We don't live near London. A few relatives of mine live there, but they got lucky,' said Leo calmly.

'We have a home in London, but I was in Wales at the time the...thing happened,' said Harry, rustling the newspaper in his hand, not looking up.

'Malfoy Manor isn't anywhere near the city,' said Draco pompously. 'Not enough space, you see?'

'Thank goodness!' said Hermione earnestly. 'And you, Tracey?'

For a second, it looked like Tracey wasn't going to answer. Harry closed his eyes and prayed the girl would finally get a grip, but then, she grinned like a rascal. 'Oh, I wasn't anywhere near London.'

'Tracey was helping her mum. They live in Falmouth,' explained Daphne. 'Good thing you couldn't come over,' she added in a softer voice.

'Yes, I certainly got _lucky_ ,' chuckled Tracey, managing to throw a thoroughly eyeless glare Harry's way.

'What were you doing with your family anyway?' asked Daphne curiously.

'Writing letters, cleaning up the mess. You know – stuff like that.'

Harry uncomfortably turned the page, not daring to raise his head.

'It's just so terrible, isn't it? But what really happened anyway?' asked Hermione. 'The news has been so vague about it all.'

Nobody seemed ready to answer Hermione's question, and Harry had the distinct impression that the others were sneaking glances at him. Harry shot a brief look of pity at the puzzled Muggle-born. The Hogwarts train was far from the best location to discuss these things but maybe a bit wouldn't hurt. 'No idea. Completely unrelated, I've heard that the situation at Hogwarts has returned to normal. That will be something to look forward to, no?'

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione's face scrunch up for a second before her face morphed from initial befuddlement, briefly passing through shock, to utter dismay. 'Y-you don't mean the Le-'

'Not here,' hissed Leo.

Hermione bit her lip. After a moment of awkward silence, she asked, 'They're gone though, aren't they?'

'I should think so,' said Harry, watching the compartment door. 'The ICW Aurors and Dumbledore used some kind of meteorological charm. A single ray of sunlight should've incinerated them instantly.'

'Why didn't they do that at Hogwarts?' asked Daphne after a while.

'Because you'd be hard-pressed to find enough wizards and witches capable of casting the spell anywhere in Britain. You need immense magical power to overwhelm the...their own magic. Also, I don't think they would've taken kindly to the attempt if it hadn't worked out.'

'No,' breathed Tracey. 'They wouldn't have.'

'But why didn't they do something sooner? So many people died! This is horrible!' exclaimed Hermione.

'The Forbidden Forest is one of the oldest and wildest forests in Britain, Hermione,' explained Leo, looking enthusiastic. 'You've probably never been in there, but it's like you're entering a cave. There are spots where the daylight won't ever reach.'

'You mean, they could've just hidden in there?'

'It's possible, I suppose,' conceded Harry.

'Well, there's also a good side to all this monster nonsense,' said Draco with a smug little grin.

'There is?' asked Hermione sceptically.

'Oh, yes! Quidditch will be back on now!'

Harry couldn't help himself and looked up from his newspaper. Everyone else was staring at Draco in varying rates of disbelief and disgust as well.

'I think you should go check in with Madame Pomfrey, Draco,' said Tracey conversationally.

'That's...really insensitive,' muttered Hermione.

'Stupid mutt,' was how Daphne voiced her disdain.

'That might've been something better thought than spoken, Draco,' opined Leo delicately.

When Draco looked with faint hope in his direction, Harry just shrugged, shaking his head softly and returning to his reading. 'We should be grateful Hogwarts survived one catastrophe, Draco. I'm not sure the school is quite ready for you playing Quidditch just yet.'

 _~BLVoD~_

Returning to Hogwarts felt strange this time around – stranger than usual even.

Every time Hermione made the transition from the Muggle world to the hidden world of magic, it all felt so unreal at first. Her parents, like the rest of the Muggle world, had discussed the industrial accident that had caused widespread devastation in London, her father insisting that the government was trying to hush something up. It hadn't even occurred to Hermione that the incident in question had been magical in nature. The broadcasts, the pictures, the witnesses – it had all seemed so...mundane if admittedly tragic. No colourful sparks, no billowing robes, nothing! It had felt like just another, terrible day in the world they lived in.

Now, Hermione couldn't help wondering how many other incidents were of a similarly obfuscated nature. It was as if you found an ugly weed in your prized garden. It was just a weed, a weed like any other. And yet, this time, when Hermione tried to rip it out, she realised that her entire world was unravelling, that the entire earth was nothing but the brown blossom of this very weed, with an unfathomable sprawl of roots upon which her house rested – precariously, delicately balanced.

She had always assumed that magicals, as ignorant and arrogant as most pure-bloods appeared to be, would be helplessly at sea in the modern world. But, to her horror, some people seemed to be doing their jobs with dreadful efficiency.

Televisions, phones, letters – what were these media in comparison to the apparent omnipotence of magic?

Only now that Hermione was promenading both sides could she appreciate the terrible, insuperable chasm between the worlds.

But not only the feelings of indignation, injustice and humiliation stung. Hermione had, true to her words to Draco and Harry, tried her best to integrate, to learn, willing to see the bigger picture. Whenever she felt like she'd made some progress, however, something happened to throw her off – like the ball. Would Muggles have held a ball for the elite only a few days after the worst national catastrophe in living memory?

Hogwarts, Hermione realised with confusion and helplessness, was split into two now more than ever. The pure-bloods and traditionally-minded families, who dealt with the Lethifold attack by pretending it hadn't happened, and the rest, who stalked the halls and corridors of the castle like zombies barely clinging to their second, accidental life.

Three Ravenclaws lost their lives when those horrible monsters had attacked, but all Padma could do was gush about Harry and Professor Rose sharing an inappropriately intimate dance.

With a frown, Hermione looked towards the staff table.

She didn't know what it was, but something about that person was starting to rub her the wrong way. What was that thing between Harry and her anyway? She didn't really believe in all that base gossip about some secret, passionate love affair, but it was, all in all, very strange. Maybe she'd have to confront Harry about it. To her mild surprise, Greengrass hadn't let anything of her suspicion slip yet, but it was probably only a matter of time.

With a frown, she gazed in the direction of the giggling Ravenclaw girls. Then, she looked up, surprised and ashamed, realising she'd wallowed in the same vices.

'I can't believe they won't restart Quidditch this year,' complained Draco indignantly, thankfully helping her blow away the cobwebs. 'Stupid Hufflepuffs.' He raised his hands in a grandiose gesture, eyes widening in mock horror. 'Nothing we can ever do or say can make this wrong right again.' He sneered, lowering his hands again. 'As if they'd magically resurrect in response to grand gestures and nice phrases they looked up somewhere.'

Hermione was glad that Greengrass, at least, had the courage to chide Draco's cold-blooded effrontery. 'You really are disgusting, Malfoy. I hope you realise that. Half of Hogwarts' students lost family in the Night Raid.'

Hermione noted Greengrass' use of the Prophet's terminology. _Night Raid,_ she ruminated. _Sounds like a military invasion._

Draco huffed with annoyance, returning to silent feasting. He did throw a few angry glares at the head table from time to time, Hermione noticed while still mulling over the words.

'What is it, Granger?' asked Draco out of the blue.

'Er, excuse me?'

'It's that look of yours! You're uselessly bending your brain around something again. Spill!'

'Oh!' Embarrassed, Hermione bit her lip. When Draco narrowed his eyes, she stopped, smiling self-consciously. 'I was just thinking about the term. Night Raid. It's strange isn't it?'

'Not at all,' said Leo calmly, meticulously wiping his mouth with his napkin. 'They're hoping for someone to take the blame.'

'You mean they're using military terminology to set the next best person up to be the scapegoat?'

'Precisely,' said Leo, folding the napkin neatly beside his plate. 'It also makes the inevitable victim of this scheme appear even more dastardly by implying perfidy and malice. It might also invoke some bad memories for older folk.' After a second of thought, he added, 'It also implies a perpetrator in the first place. Anyway, I notice you're spending time in my presence again, Draco.'

'Oh!' Draco looked up, grinning good-naturedly. 'Well, now that this mess is over, there's no chance of me getting roped into it, is there?'

Leo looked faintly offended. 'I never intended to scam you into running wild in the forest, you know?'

'Better safe than sorry! Look, there are just too many strange incidents with you. Coincidence only goes so far.'

'You're paranoid,' retorted Leo. Facing Draco's smirk, he shook his head. 'Will you forget that Chimaera for one second?'

'Then what about the wild herd of Aethonans that nearly trampled us to death?!'

Hermione looked disbelievingly from the playfully accusing Draco to the defensive and somewhat affronted Leo. 'That was only that one time. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures said it was a perfectly normal occurrence.'

'Yes, as perfectly normal as getting hit by a meteorite,' joked Draco.

'You've really seen a Chimaera?' asked Hermione excitedly.

'It was a very small one,' protested Leo huffishly.

'Juvenile, not small! It was still as big as a troll!'

'And it wasn't very aggressive at all-'

'-because it was busy devouring an Abraxan!' added Draco.

'Do you, er, often stumble upon lost creatures?' asked Hermione, fascinated.

'It was only that one Chimaera and the Aethonans. Draco's exaggerating!'

'And let's not forget the abandoned Erkling in Puck's Glenn.'

Leo scowled at Draco.

'Speaking of abandoned pets,' said Draco with a wink, 'where's your husband, Greengrass?'

Daphne glared angrily. 'I'm not his _owner_ , Malfoy. I'm worried; that doesn't mean I put a leash on him!'

'Are you sure you haven't considered that already?' Draco's smile was almost obscenely wide. 'After his latest dance with Rose, I mean? The Patils won't shut up about it, you should listen to them!'

'Mind your own business, Malfoy! And for your information, I'm not worried at all,' declared Greengrass in a shaky voice. 'It was only one dance. Harry and I danced five times that night!'

'So you mean to tell me you don't know where he is?' asked Draco, his grin threatening to split his face.

'...He's doing something stupid with Amy, but that's totally beside the point!'

'What are Harry and Amadina doing?' asked Hermione.

Daphne shrugged, busy glaring at Draco.

'I think he's apprising her of the situation,' speculated Leo.

'What? You didn't already?' asked Hermione, surprised.

'Why would I?' replied Leo, looking faintly puzzled by Hermione's assumption. 'It's not my place to do so.'

 _~BLVoD~_

'...and that's more or less what's been going on,' finished Harry, looking expectantly at Amy.

'Oh. I see.'

Harry waited for a few seconds more, but his cousin didn't seem ready to volunteer anything else for now. 'Er, you're not...alienated? Or at the very least curious?'

'Not really,' said Amy, leaning over the balustrade and peering at a few other first years playing in the snow. Apparently realising that Harry was waiting for her to elaborate, she continued, 'I don't really care about the decisions you make, to be honest. They're yours.'

Harry stared off into the sunny January day. He hadn't made the decision to reveal the whole extent of his incompetence lightly. In truth, he'd struggled even more with the shame of his mess ups than the actual and terrible truth about the Lethifolds.

He wasn't afraid of disloyalty – but of disappointment. Amy just shrugging it all off was far from anything he could have expected.

'And it doesn't bother you at all?' he insisted, astonished.

'Not at all.' In a particularly carefree act of daring, Amy took a seat on the frozen and presumably slippery balustrade. Facing Harry, she leant back, her hands all that kept her from a long and undoubtedly fatal fall. 'You're too cautious, Harry.'

'Excuse me?'

'You heard me. Never mind your whole "girls-have-cooties-thing",' she said, totally ignoring Harry giving her the evil eye, 'you always agonise about consequences. And while you're busy planning, life goes on.'

'I represent more than myself! I can't just do everything on a whim!' objected Harry.

Amy just shrugged, rocking back and forth. 'Whatever. You've spent half the year planning, haven't you? How did that work out for you?'

'Are you suggesting my results will improve if I stop thinking altogether?' he asked sarcastically.

'You don't need to stop thinking,' she replied, rolling her eyes. 'But you need to start trusting your instincts.'

'My instincts?'

'Look, contrary to appearances, you're quite smart, aren't you?' she asked, grinning playfully. 'What are your instincts regarding that Antonius person?'

'What? Well, I think-'

'No, stop trying to rationalise it!' she interjected effervescently. 'Just your first impression.'

'Er, extremely bad, I guess?' he said slowly as if tasting each word individually. Amy nodded encouragingly, so he continued, 'I feel like he's a hound unwilling to let go of you once he's taken a bite. Cunning, too. And dangerous.'

'See?' she said self-congratulatory. 'What about Dumbledore?'

'Apprehensive?' he said slowly, expressing his first thoughts. 'I feel like he's watching me.'

'Okay. Rose is next.'

'Oh, come on, not you too!' spat Harry irately.

'I'm not Daphne, Harry,' said Amy with a laugh. 'I'm serious, go on.'

'Fine!' Thinking for a bit, he said, 'Well, I think we're kind of similar. She's undoubtedly dangerous and hiding something, but I don't think I, in particular, have anything to fear from her. At least not right now.'

'Prewett!' commanded Amy, seemingly enjoying herself.

'A dazzler I desperately want to shut up.' The words left his mouth faster this time around.

'Amadina Lestrange!'

Harry snorted. Still, it was quite rare for Amy to be in such a good mood, so he decided to play along. 'A devious trickster!'

'Oh, come on, Harry!' she laughed wildly. 'You're still going on about that? It's been almost six years. Grow a pair!'

'Only joking,' he said with a chuckle as he leant against the rail. 'The direct antithesis to deliberation and the wacky arch-nemesis of boredom.' In a softer tone, he added, 'Family.'

Amy grinned, looking pleased. 'Tonks!'

'Dora? One of the most entertaining family members around.'

Amy, who had been about to shoot out the next name, slowly pursed her lips. Confronted with sudden and incomprehensible silence, Harry looked to his side to find Amy gazing upwards, her eyes blank.

'You've got to be joking, Amy. She's your cousin, too!'

'Harry, you ask?' Amadina Lestrange addressed the cold winter breeze. 'An overprotective, privileged secret-keeper with potential – unwisely soft, tragically blind in one eye.'

 _~BLVoD~_

Soon, January became just another memory. Early February brought fresh snowfalls, but the weather returned to clear skies and blindingly bright if short hours of sunshine not too long after.

It had taken a while, and Madame Pomfrey had been, or so the rumours claimed, helping a lot of students who were plagued by nightmares, anxiety or outright fear of the night, but the sun, shining with a radiance that suggested it was trying to make up for the terrible weather of the autumn and early winter months, helped soothe the nerves of the more openly emotional witches and wizards. Though there were a few incidents where parents had taken their children back home, at least temporarily, Hermione was honestly surprised how 'well' the students were coping with the aftermath of the London massacre.

Still, there was this tiny part of her that kept pointing out that an integral part of dealing with the stress and fear seemed to consist of outright ignoring it. Pure-bloods, she noticed, seemed to have it especially bad. One first year boy from her house who had lost both of his parents and his seven-year-old sister had been forced to continue attending school by his unbending grandparents, despite his very verbal and rather embarrassing breakdown in the middle of the Great Hall when they'd come to visit at the insistence of Professor Dumbledore.

Every night, he had kept crying and sobbing so loudly, so heartbreakingly that Hermione had occasionally heard him even from the girl's dormitories. For nearly two weeks this had been allowed to continue until Pucey and Higgs, discreetly supported by some sympathetic girls, had had a violent row with the prefects.

As a result, the somewhat shunned boy had been taken under the wing of those two and a few of the girls, who tried to keep him company most of the time. To her not inconsiderable surprise, Greengrass seemed to be part of this group as well.

It was strangely heart-warming.

Neither Harry nor Draco, however, had made any sort of comment, Hermione noticed with a little pang of disappointment. Pure-bloods, she thought grimly, were expected to be self-reliant and fend for themselves – at any cost. If anything, most of the boys seemed to express faint disdain about poor Harper practically screaming for help, irrespective of the fact that he was also getting a lot of unfriendly glares for being the centre of attention in a group with rather popular and outgoing girls.

With a sigh, Hermione watched Harper being led towards a few seats at the end of the Slytherin table, guarded by five rather fierce-looking witches. Pucey and Higgs were already waiting for them. Both of them had gone from rather admired members of House Slytherin – largely due to their respectable performances on the Quidditch pitch, or so Hermione heard – to barely accepted. They didn't seem to mind, though, as the drop in regard for them had apparently been easily compensated by the gratitude they got from the girls.

Hermione had felt an immeasurable sense of pride in her house, maybe for the first time ever, and would have liked to help cheer up the boy as well, but she had struggled with herself. Eventually, she conceded that she wouldn't really know what to say or do. A problem, she noticed, the other girls didn't seem to have.

With another sigh, she returned her attention to the breakfast in front of her.

'Are you alright, Hermione?' asked Harry, glancing at her from over his newspaper. 'You seem rather prone to sighing this morning.'

'Oh.' Smiling awkwardly, she waved her hand dismissively. 'It's nothing.'

'Anyway, _I_ notice you've been staring at the same page for nearly ten minutes, mate,' said Draco, for once rather serious, perhaps in fear of Harry's morning temper.

'Yeah.' With a sigh of his own, Harry put the page he'd been reading flat on the table, turning it around so Draco and Hermione could have a look.

It was an article about the newly elected Czech Minister for Magic. The picture showed a grizzly, if dignified, middle-aged man in baggy robes. Hermione's eyes, however, were drawn to the scar that nearly ran across his entire face.

'Josef Svoboda, last in line of one of central Europe's most prominent and famous magical clans, surprisingly won the election over his vastly favoured rival candidate, Marek. Experts question whether this utterly unprecedented upset will have repercussions for European relations, as Svoboda is famous for many controversial political opinions, especially concerning the tutelage of Muggle-borns and Muggle relations in general. Immediately following the announcement of the results, supporters of the original favourite began calling for a re-vote, insisting that the election had to have been rigged...'

'Hang on,' said Draco slowly. 'He looks familiar.'

'Does he?' asked Hermione.

'You would think so,' said Harry, 'because he was one of Grandfather's guests at the ball.'

'Your grandfather knows the Czech Minister?' asked Hermione, amazed.

'I suppose so. He introduced himself to me, as a matter of fact.'

'Wow!' breathed Hermione, before she saw Draco's patronising smirk. 'I mean,' she said, coughing respectably, 'what's that about the tutelage of Muggle-borns?'

'A fancy phrase for the age-old question of who should have the last say in matters of underage Muggle-borns, probably,' explained Draco with a shrug. 'In recent years, many countries have changed the laws to give their Muggle parents more rights or even the entire custody, but that hasn't been exactly popular.'

Harry could obviously read her just as easily as Draco could because he interrupted her before she'd even finished formulating her angry riposte. 'Look, let's not get into that right now, Hermione. We have more important political things happening a bit closer to home anyway.'

'What do you mean?'

Harry nodded towards the front, where their headmaster was in deep conversation with Professor Prewett – or rather just Prewett, as Hermione had recently come to think of him.

'You haven't heard?' asked Draco with palpable glee. 'Honestly, you'd think you would be at least a bit curious as to what's happening around you. Dumbledore's been sacked from his post as Chief Warlock. He managed to hold on to being headmaster, and the ICW's always been in love with his backside, so his position there is regrettably safe too – for now at least.'

'What?! Why?' demanded Hermione, vowing to get a subscription to the Prophet as soon as possible.

'My father sacked him,' replied Draco with an expression of ultimate smugness.

'It was a bit more complicated than that,' Harry pointed out, rolling his eyes.

'Father always said he would rid us of Dumbledore. Merlin, it's a good time to be alive.' With an insufferable grin, he raised his glass to a toast. 'To Albus Percival Wulfric Brienne-'

'Brian,' corrected Hermione automatically.

'Brienne Dumbledore,' finished Draco importantly. 'Our erstwhile Chief Warlock. May his remaining reign as headmaster be a short anecdote in the margins of our history. Cheers!'

Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry, with a shrug, clinked glasses with Draco. 'Will it change anything? I thought he was important with the Ministry.'

'Is this really the time to explain this to you?' asked Draco sourly. 'I want to commit this moment to memory!'

With a pleading look, Hermione turned towards Harry, who made a noncommittal gesture with his hand. 'It's more of a symbolic thing, really. Dumbledore is still the leader of the second largest faction in the Wizengamot, and that won't change anytime soon.'

'Stop that, Harry! Way to ruin this for me!'

Curiosity sparked, Hermione sat up straight. 'Who are the others?'

'It's complicated. No group is entirely unified, so it's difficult to speak in terms of factions at all. But I can try to break it down for you.

'Firstly, the Pillars who, on a good day, unify a vast majority of the votes. In your terms, they're liberal-progressive, usually spearheading reforms under either the Prewetts' or Longbottoms' guidance.

'Dumbledore and his admirers have no common agenda at all. Rather, they simply gather under our headmaster's flag, a loose coalition of friends and contacts. Their group is the most diverse, some of them being rather moderate in all their dealings, others, in your Muggle terms, leftist libertines. Without the man sitting right there, it'd all be falling apart within a matter of months.

'Then, there's the Ministry crowd around Crouch. They used to be firmly integrated within the Pillars, but as of late, they've created more and more distance. Crouch is a fierce believer in hard justice, but, at his core, he's more of a conservative, preferring to keep the status quo with the least amount of legal regulation.

'Selwyn has, in the last fifteen years, managed to gather a lot of the more...traditional people around him. He doesn't have nearly as many votes as the Pillars or even Dumbledore, but since his policies favour many of the wealthier families, those votes he does have carry a lot of weight.

'And lastly,' Harry made a rare face of open revulsion, 'there's the Notts.'

'You mean...?' asked Hermione nervously, trying to confirm her suspicions without speaking the name of Theodore Nott.

Apparently, her attempt at subtlety failed spectacularly, as Harry's mouth turned from a cool frown into an icy snarl.

'I've heard people talk about that family sometimes. They, er, weren't very complimentary.'

'The Notts are the dregs of Wizarding Britain, Granger,' said Draco. 'They believe we should take up our wands and butcher Muggle children in their sleep.'

When Harry gave Draco a pointed look, the boy shrugged nonchalantly. 'What?! She asked!'

'What about your family, Harry?' asked Hermione after a few seconds of awkwardness.

'Oh.' To her surprise, Harry just chuckled. 'Yes, of course, there's also Grandfather and Rodolphus.'

'Grandfather and Rodolphus...?' repeated Hermione, confused.

'Leo's dad,' supplemented Draco helpfully, once again giving in to his habit of pretending the elder sibling didn't exist, more than likely due to his very private dreams for this to – someday – become reality.

'Wh- What, you mean your grandfather has only _two votes_?' Hermione stared at the boy with wide-eyed bafflement.

'I suppose so,' admitted Harry rather easily. He didn't seem to care at all, to her incredible surprise. Seeing her disbelieving expression, he smiled enigmatically. 'It's not all about the quantity of the votes. Look, I told you it's more complicated than that. Most heirs study for years and years before they enter the Wizengamot for good. The family feuds alone fill several ledgers.'

'Family feuds? What... Can't they just...set aside their differences in times of need?'

Draco snorted, spraying his pumpkin juice nearly all the way over to the Ravenclaws. 'My, that's just precious, Granger! Grow up, will you?! Harry's grandfather and Dumbledore will never vote on the same subject on principle. Nor will my father and several of Crouch's cronies. Oh, except whenever that ghoulish Nott makes another move to sanction the use of the blood of young Muggle girls as a potion ingredient, or some such rot.'

'You're joking!' She gaped, horrified.

'He's nasty,' replied Draco, refilling his cup.

Appalled, Hermione looked from Draco to Harry, who gave an apologetic little smile. 'I wish Draco was telling some tale like any other day-'

'Oi!'

'But he's got a point with Nott. Stay away from them, Hermione – seriously!'

'I've been told the same about you,' she returned, realising a moment too late what she'd said.

Harry, however, didn't seem offended. 'Decent advice, but my family doesn't really concern itself with Muggles these days, to be honest.'

'What do you mean?' asked Hermione, nervously taking note of the 'these days'.

With a forlorn look that seemed to defy the very concept of distance itself, he stared down the table to where Greengrass was sitting with some other girls, pampering an embarrassed Harper.

'Nothing,' he said.

 _~BLVoD~_

'And that,' finished Professor Vector primly, neatly stacking her notes with an air of finality, 'will be all. I'll be expecting your notes next week. Good day.'

Hermione, still glowing with pride from the rare praise she'd gotten out of their Arithmancy professor, hastily made a few notes on her calendar to remind her to finish her homework on time.

'You really take this all quite seriously, don't you?' asked Harry, resting his head in his hand in a relaxed fashion as he smiled at her notebook.

'Of course, I do!' she replied indignantly, not sure if she should feel offended.

With a provocative glance, she added, 'And seriously – the walking encyclopedia of charms doesn't have the right to take a dig at me!'

Harry gave a little smile in response. 'What do you plan to do after school, Hermione?'

'Oh, I don't know. Something worthwhile?'

'Shouldn't you start looking for something worthwhile, then?' he asked, sounding strangely serious.

'What do you mean?' she asked, stopping her packing and giving her full attention to Harry.

'Well, being studious is a good thing, as is wanting to learn. But you lack...direction, Hermione. You can't just read everything and expect something to come off it.'

'But how am I supposed to know what I want to do in five years?' she shot back, frowning.

'Well, that is, I admit, the tricky part. I'm just saying that people only accomplish something meaningful when their mind is set to a task. And reading every book in the library,' he added with a teasing grin, 'isn't it.'

Hermione flicked her tongue, resuming her packing. 'Don't you worry about me. I can take care of myself.'

'How very Slytherin of you,' remarked Harry slyly.

There it was again. She was sure Harry had said it only in jest, but his words also revealed a deeper meaning. Deciding that this was the time, as Harry was the only one she shared Arithmancy with, she asked, 'Harry? Why is it such a big deal that some are helping Harper? He's had it really rough!'

'Ah,' returned Harry, his easy grin slowly turning sour. 'Well, it's just not how it's done, I'm afraid.'

'What do you mean?'

'As a child growing up in a traditional family, you hear all the time that you should only share your most inner self with those you know you can trust. It's...a sign of closeness. I've seen Muggle's kissing strangers on either cheek or even the mouth as a way of greeting. I don't mind telling you the thought is a bit...revolting. It's difficult to explain. It's a...ceremonial thing. It's an important step if you trust someone enough to reveal your most personal thoughts, but you cannot just do it with random strangers. That would be...presumptuous, obtrusive, and – frankly – rude.'

'So, you keep strangers away and only really good friends close?' she asked curiously.

'Exactly.'

'Who do you confide in?'

Harry flinched visibly. 'That's...not something you should go around asking people, Hermione.'

'Oops, sorry!' she said in a small voice, smiling apologetically.

'In any case,' he murmured, 'at Hogwarts, there's only Daphne I could even conceive myself confiding in – probably.'

Hermione chose to remain silent. After a second, she said, 'Why is Greengrass helping Harper?'

Harry shot her a look, one eyebrow raised. 'That's a bad habit to have, Hermione. You really should ask her yourself. I thought Leo had tried to impress that on you already.'

Hermione felt herself go red. 'Oh, right – sorry!'

With a bit of a chuckle, Harry shook his head. 'I think we should ask Draco to resume your lessons with him.'

'Please, no!' she barked out. She really wasn't looking forward to that, despite her promise to keep learning.

'But you really should. How else will you be attending the ball next year?'

Hermione blinked. _Did he just...?_ 'You want me to go to the Black Ball next year?' she asked nervously.

'Yes. That way, you'll have a fixed goal.' With a wicked grin, he added, 'Either do your best or disgrace yourself in front of the entire high society.'

Hermione felt her throat go dry. 'And you want me to go with you...?'

'Oh,' said Harry, coming to a halt, apparently not having considered that. 'Well, you don't need to, obviously. You can go with whomever you want, I suppose, but if you don't find anyone, I'm sure something can be arranged.'

'Are you sure about this, Harry? I thought the ball was a big deal...'

'It is. But, to be honest, the younger crowd is usually left alone, more or less. Otherwise, you probably would've heard about Tracey and me almost crashing during the first dance already – or Leo's drunken adventures.'

'What?!' shouted Hermione, gaping in disbelief at the rather amused Harry.

'Come on, we'll be late for dinner.'

'He's fourteen, Harry!' she cried out, appalled.

'So what?'

'Well, he shouldn't be drinking yet!'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Nobody is forcing anyone to do anything, Hermione. If he doesn't mind facing his mother's terrible wrath, and I assure you I would, who are we to say he can't? Come on, they'll start without us.'

'We aren't done talking about this,' she grumbled.

'If you say so,' he returned with a grin, supremely unrepentant.

All the others – that is to say Draco, Tracey, Greengrass, Leo, and Amadina – were already seated by the time they arrived at the Great Hall. Greengrass had, to nobody's particular surprise, saved Harry a seat next to her. Hermione had to take the only other free seat next to Leo, not that she particularly minded.

'There you are, mate!' said Draco impatiently. 'Oh, and you, Granger.'

'Yes, here we are,' returned Harry calmly. 'By the way, 'mate',' he added just as the food appeared on their table, 'I'd appreciate it if you could go back to regular lessons with Hermione.'

'What? How come?!'

'Harry wants me to go to the ball next year.'

'You're joking!' Seeing Harry's cool demeanour, he looked even more surprised. 'You're _not_ joking?!'

'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' grumbled Hermione, annoyed.

'No, no, it's not even that! It's just...' he looked at them all, from the casual Harry, the disinterested Greengrass at his side, over Tracey (who looked amused), to the Lestrange siblings, who seemed to be discussing something.

Amadina, noting Draco's stare, looked up for a second, confused. Then, she shrugged. 'I agree with Harry,' she said, before returning to her conversation with her brother, evidently not having paid attention.

'Alright, alright,' he grumbled listlessly. 'I suppose... I hope you appreciate the opportunity, at least.'

'Of course!' said Hermione enthusiastically, trying to sound as ecstatic as possible. 'It's not like I could've expected a better teacher than the privileged scion of one of Britain's noblest families!'

Greengrass choked on her tea. Harry, clapping her on the back, winked at Hermione, mouthing, 'Nicely done!'

'Well,' said a very pleased-looking Draco, sitting just a tad straighter, 'it's good that you understand your position. I suppose I could make time for you. What do you say about two evenings every week? I'll come up with a syllabus this week...'

Draco continued to ramble on for a while. It was almost cute how easy it was to string him along, thought Hermione, deciding she'd thank Harry later again for his tip about praising Draco to flip his mood.

'Anyway, guys?' asked Leo, apparently having finished his secret talk. 'Have you realised that Antonius person is still here? I thought the ICW was supposed to go back to the mainland, now that...everything's over.'

Hermione looked towards the head table. Sure enough, the massive figure of Antonius the Auror, easily dwarfing both Prewett and Professor Dumbledore, who sat at his side, towered over the masses like an overseer.

'I don't know,' said Harry slowly, looking interested. 'It does seem...strange.'

'Oh, him?' interjected Draco unexpectedly. 'Yeah, I've heard that he's staying behind with a small group of his most trusted people. Don't ask me why. It's all very hush-hush.'

Hermione could've sworn Tracey had been trying to catch Harry's eyes for a few seconds, but the boy only shrugged, seemingly losing interest already. 'Well, it's not our problem, is it? We have nothing to worry about.'

'Are you sure?' asked Tracey in a low voice, holding her head in her small hands. 'That...text of ours...won't get us into trouble, will it?'

'No,' said Harry simply.

Hermione silently watched their exchange, feeling she wasn't on the same page somehow. _Are they talking about Leo's book?_

'Hey, isn't that one of yours, Harry?' exclaimed Daphne, pointing towards the very same gigantic eagle owl Hermione's mother had once spoiled rotten.

Imperiously, the owl swooped through the hall, circling over their heads until it landed, quite dignified, on Harry's shoulder.

Clutched in her talons was a single page of parchment. Even from her seat, Hermione could make out some part of the coat of arms: two rampant hounds charging a shield with a single sabre.

Harry wordlessly took the parchment, and the owl, after one last warning screech, immediately took off.

For a few seconds, Harry gazed at the parchment in his hand. Then, he turned it over, but Hermione could see that the back was devoid of any writing. The front, as was now revealed, featured only two words underneath the coat of what she had to presume to be the Black family sign.

'One week.'

 _~BLVoD~_

The weather had, or so it seemed to Harry, taken the same turn as his previously somewhat restored mood. Grey clouds covered the skies as far as one could see ever since he'd received the strange letter last night. For the hundredth time, he took the parchment in his hand, trying to pierce the mysterious message with his gaze.

There could be no doubt that the message was genuine, as he would always recognise his grandfather's fine penmanship, but the meaning behind the message completely baffled him.

One week.

Had it been one week since something happened, or was something supposed to happen in one week? Had Harry forgotten something and had only one week left? Should he be careful this week, in one week, or possibly just seven days?

Scratching the back of his head, he turned the parchment on its head, trying to gain a new angle, but no matter what he did, the message remained as incomprehensible as it was simple. He'd tried everything, every charm he knew of, checked for transfigurations, had even asked for Daphne's help to see if she could tell if the ink was magical in nature – or a potion.

And it had all amounted to exactly nothing.

His last, his greatest hope had been his hidden trump, but even his strange sight, which had gotten even clearer since he'd proceeded to study lucid dreaming to help his Occlumency, had revealed that the little bit of parchment in his hand was just that – mundane parchment with a coat of arms, two words, and a full stop written in expensive but otherwise unremarkable black ink.

But what could possibly happen in one week?

True, Antonius' appearance at Hogwarts had unsettled him a bit and must have truly shaken Tracey, considering how blatantly obvious she had been.

But there couldn't be any connection to the Lethifolds, could there?

They were gone, and whatever he had missed in the duelling chamber, Aenor had said she'd taken care of. He was even sleeping better since Yule. True, he'd had a bit of trouble the first few nights after London, but that was only to be expected, wasn't it? What sort of monster could see such things and just pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened? He couldn't.

But he'd been perfectly fine, sleeping six or seven hours each night this February, and Daphne – to her disappointment, he suspected – wasn't required to wake him up and drag him out of bed any longer.

It was a mystery.

Harry dearly wished he hadn't gone out of his way to avoid his grandfather now. There was a man who had all the answers, the man who knew it all. And hadn't Harry only avoided him because he thought he'd disappointed his sole remaining parental figure?

 _Or maybe because he just let you crash against the wall...?_ remarked an ugly voice in his head. _Arcturus might have all the answers, but he didn't share those answers with you, did he?_

Harry sighed, watching gloomily as the first raindrops hit the window like the tears of heaven. Right now, he dearly wished he had someone to talk to. But the only two people who, in his mind and heart, qualified were people he didn't want to involve; Daphne, because he just couldn't bring himself to taint her bright outlook on life with ghoulish tales of blood and nightmares, and Aenor, in front of whom he didn't want to appear like a hapless fool.

The image of another person, an elf to be exact, buzzed through his mind. 'Sometimes,' Minnie had said, 'it be better to fess up and get help.'

Grandfather had always said he was too unwilling to cooperate. Maybe he should just swallow his pride and write back? What better option did he have left...?

But not today!

Surely, one or two days wouldn't really matter anyway. _And who knows? Maybe I'll be able to crack this message after all!_

 _~BLVoD~_

'Well, who would've thought,' said Aenor with a lazy grin as she continued to prod his work.

'I got it right, then?' he asked hopefully, sinking deeper into his chair and feeling exhausted.

'Hmm.' Aenor turned the little frame this way and that way, inspecting it critically from different angles. 'Well, to my own surprise, I think so. It's still fairly unstable, and you need a lot more practice to pour more power into it, but, fundamentally, yes, I think this is it.'

'Thank Merlin!' muttered Harry, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. 'If ever I see little wooden windows again, I think I'll go on a rampage.'

'Still feeling full of energy, are we?' asked Aenor with palpable amusement.

'What?! Er, well...'

'Excellent!' Suddenly, Aenor jumped from her seat, stretching like a gymnast about to astound her audience. 'You know, if you think it's dull trying to weave your magic into that, what do you think about watching some kid playing for days and days with the window I broke off some doll's house?!'

'So it really was a doll's house?!' asked Harry, embarrassed.

Aenor laughed. 'Don't worry, I'll probably keep your private obsession to play house secret. But now...' With a lazy swish of her wand, all the furniture in the room floated gently towards one corner. Aenor, with an excited grin, began to slowly circle him. 'Now, how about we do something more fun.'

With a conspiratorial wink, she aimed her wand at Harry, who was desperately fumbling for his own.

In a sweet voice and with a kittenish smile, she said, 'Bombarda Maxima!'

~ _BLVoD~_

Later that night, his robes in tatters, every bone in his body creaking in protest, Harry dragged himself down the stairs leading to the dungeons. Aenor really had been bored, he figured, and him depriving her of her 'little project', as she had taken a liking to calling it, must have equally frustrated her.

Well, it was a good lesson, he tried to tell himself as he took another pause near the Potions classroom, rubbing his stinging side. He had learned something, hadn't he? He couldn't quite claim to have ever wondered if it was possible to transfigure the better part of an enemy's robes into hungry lion cubs, but now he knew the answer – so there was that. Clearly, a win, wasn't it?

And if your opponent remarked that they looked rather cuddly, was it further possible to transfigure lion cubs into Chimaera cubs? Well, not for him – definitely – but apparently for some other people. You only had to look for the lessons learned and everything seemed a lot more worthwhile!

Hesitantly, he lifted one side of his robes, inspecting the bite mark. Were Chimaeras venomous? He'd have to discreetly inquire with Leo later...

Nodding to himself, he started walking again.

He briefly ran into the eldest Weasley, who looked a bit suspicious about the state he was in but decided to let it go when Harry earnestly pointed out that he needed to hurry up to make it until curfew.

Eventually – finally – he arrived in the Slytherin common room, heading straight for his bed after a brief and innocent talk with Leo. Giving Draco, who was bragging about his ability to sneak into Hogsmeade, a wide berth, he tended to his wound, slipped out of his robes, and collapsed on his bed, not even bothering to take off his socks.

Sleep at last...

Though, apparently, not necessarily for long. He awoke some indefinite amount of time later – though not by choice. Someone with long, blond hair was shaking him violently. 'Urgh...What...Daphne?!' he muttered, confused.

'Harry, you need to come with me, right now!' she hissed urgently, stealing nervous glances at the other beds.

Bewildered, Harry stared at her for few seconds. Then, without another word, he got up, wobbling dangerously but managing to dress nevertheless. Daphne, her back turned to him, was shifting her weight uncomfortably, clearly eager for him to hurry it up.

Rubbing his eyes, he said in a rough voice, 'Yeah, I'm dressed, you can turn around. What is it, Daphne? It's the middle of the night!'

'It's Tracey! I- I don't know what to do anymore!'

Harry, wrinkling his brow and struggling to cope with this bit of news, blinked like a reptile enjoying the first rays of sunlight.

'Just come with me,' snapped Daphne, grabbing his hand.

Harry allowed himself to be dragged out of the boy's dormitories and up towards the girl's quarters. A sudden shriek from Daphne kicked him completely out of his drowsiness.

 _The stairs!_ he thought, managing to break his cousin's fall. Just in time, he tapped the handrail to freeze the charm. The step under his left leg had already nearly vanished.

Daphne looked embarrassed as she picked herself up. 'Forgot about that,' she mumbled. 'It's stupid, I can get into your dormitories no problem! Anyway, come on!'

Unfortunately, they had to use the handrail to climb the slope. While Harry knew how to stop the charm from triggering, reversing its effects or outright breaking the ancient spell was, frankly, impossible.

Eventually, they managed to get to the top, Daphne helping him the last few feet. Harry wasn't particularly embarrassed; he'd long come to terms with the fact that she was fitter than him.

Sneaking on the tip of her toes, she led him towards the door he knew their sleeping quarters lay behind.

'Can you do something about the other girls?' she whispered suddenly, one hand already on the doorknob. Obviously, she hadn't exactly thought this through.

Harry nodded concisely.

Expertly, Daphne opened the door with nary a sound. As soon as the lock clicked under his cousin's soft touch, he could hear the whimpering. Exchanging a nod with Daphne, he took a brief peek into the room. All the curtains were closed, all except Daphne's and Tracey's. The short girl was tossing and turning, whimpering, and – to Harry's disbelief – crying.

Without another word, he directed his wand towards the other beds, muttering under his breath for a few seconds until a white-golden ball of light illuminated the whole room as if a nocturnal sun had arisen. The spell lingered in the middle of the room for a second, and Harry noticed movement from behind two curtains, but then, the charm finished and much smaller rays of gold shot towards each bed.

Not bothering with the question whether he had overdone it or not, he pulled Daphne into the room, charmed it locked, and strode over to Tracey's bed.

Daphne pushed her head through the canopy of some other bed, prodding what looked like Hermione. 'What did you do to them?!'

'I made sure they're actually sleeping and not just pretending. Don't worry, they'll wake up – er, eventually. So, what happened?' he asked as he took a seat on the edge of Tracey's bed, watching her petite body giving rather worrying nervous twitches.

'I- I don't know! She's been all strange ever since it started to rain again.'

Harry watched as Tracey, in her sleep, gave another wailing sob. Her behaviour seemed rather excessive for a simple dream but... 'Are you sure she's not just having a nightmare?'

'Harry, I wouldn't tell you normally, but I've never seen Tracey cry in my entire life – ever!' said Daphne in a guilty tone, looking at her best friend, full of worry. 'When I heard her sobbing, I thought someone else was sleeping in her bed at first! I woke her up, of course, but she's always slipping back into the same nightmare whenever she falls asleep!'

Harry reached over and carefully lifted Tracey's eyelids. 'How often did you wake her?'

'Six times!' hissed Daphne. 'I can't get Pomfrey, Harry. I just can't! Harper is one thing, but he's at least pure-blood. Tracey's having enough difficulties as it is, with her father being Muggle-born and all. I just can't go get Pomfrey for something like this!'

'I understand.' He pointed his wand at Tracey's temple and cast a charm meant to relax muscles so she wouldn't hurt herself at least. The spell would dissipate within a few hours anyway. 'You said this started when it began to rain? You have to listen really hard to even notice that sort of thing down here...'

'Yes, well, it's quite windy outside tonight. I don't know,' she said, leaning over his shoulder and gazing at her friend. 'You think she'll be okay?'

Seeing her so worried for her best friend put a smile on Harry's lips. 'She'll be fine, Daphne.'

To be honest, it probably was a very natural reaction, he thought to himself. Today was, after all, the first stormy night after London. For a second, he listened with all his might. True enough, if he really strained his ears, he could hear the wind stirring the lake above – as well as any number of other haunting noises the storm coaxed out of the old castle. Was it just his imagination or could he really hear the rumble of the surf...?

He stood up, walking over to the door. 'Do you have a decent brush and permanent ink, Daphne?'

'What?' she asked, taken aback. 'I think so.'

She turned around, jumping onto her bed. She'd hidden her shrunken trunk under her pillow, he noticed with amusement. It didn't take long until Daphne had unloaded half an apothecary, two fashion stores, and a lot of things Harry didn't dare to ask about on her bed until she happily raised her little jewellery-adorned cedarwood box containing pencils, quills and brushes into the air.

'Found it!' she proclaimed proudly.

Harry sighed, but couldn't quite keep himself from smiling either. 'Give it here, please.'

He selected a sturdy, fine badger hair brush, picked a subtle brown ink, and began to write immediately, the brush running smoothly over the wood of the door frame.

'What are you doing?' asked Daphne, watching him curiously, still kneeling on her bed.

'These,' he explained, finishing the first rune, Peaceful, 'are ancient runes meant to protect houses from storms, rain, lightning, flooding, fire, and the like. They're not particularly powerful, but they're absolutely harmless, permanent, and – best of all – completely legal. I stumbled upon them a few months ago and looked them up. Wait and see.'

As promised, it didn't take longer than a few minutes. As soon as he finished the last set of runes directly opposite his first, the symbols flashed dark green. 'You won't notice the light in a few hours. But listen!'

Daphne blinked, hesitating, but did as he told her, closing her eyes. Harry listened as well – but there was nothing to be heard.

'The noise is gone,' remarked Daphne, surprised.

Harry nodded, walking over to Tracey again. Strangely, she seemed to be sleeping easier already. In all honesty, he hadn't expected such a strong reaction.

 _Well, if it helps..._

With one last shrug, he pointed his wand at Tracey again, watching with interest as the golden cloche settled over her face.

'What was that?' asked Daphne, shuffling over.

'A Daydream Charm. She'll sleep more calmly tonight.' Noting the thin line of saliva and the wide grin that started to appear on Tracey's face, he chose to rectify his statement. 'Well, at least she'll sleep.'

Daphne gave a huge sigh of relief, though she too looked rather amused by her best friend's expression. 'Thanks, Harry...'

'Don't mention it. If she continues to have nightmares, brew her a Dreamless Sleep potion. You can do that one, can't you? I always get it wrong somehow...'

'I, well, I think so? But it won't solve anything, will it? Do you know why she was like that?'

Harry took a second to ponder his answer. He did _not_ like lying to Daphne if he could avoid it. 'Hard to say. Maybe it's something personal? If so, it'll get better in time.'

'Okay,' muttered Daphne, taking his left hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. 'Thanks...'

He turned around, smiling at her honest expression. 'Anything else?' He pocketed his wand, suppressing a yawn. 'We can talk tomorrow, Daphne. I'm really tired...'

'Oh,' she replied in a disappointed voice. She glanced at her bare feet, her free hand coiling a few strands of her glossy hair around a finger. 'I thought – that is if you don't mind – maybe...maybe we could watch the lightning? You know, like we used to do when we were kids...?'

Through the curtain of her long mane, she sneaked a peek at his face with her ocean blue eyes.

'Maybe some other time, Daphne,' he said softly, gently squeezing her hand back. 'I'm already more asleep than awake...'

'You can fall asleep right here if you like,' she said, recovering fast and pointing towards her bed with a teasing grin.

'Stop messing with me,' groaned Harry sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

'Hm.'

Without another word, she embraced him, holding him tightly, her entire body moulded to his. With a certain amount of discomfort, Harry noticed that Daphne's nightgown appeared to be rather thin – he could feel the warmth radiating from her. He gently disentangled himself after a few seconds of her lingering hug, scurrying towards the stairs and the common room's promise of cool air.

He turned around to look over his shoulder one last time, waving at her. Daphne stood at the door, her head leaning against the wood, and he could feel her gaze following him even after the darkness of the deserted common room had swallowed his figure.

~ _BLVoD~_

Ironically, Harry was having trouble falling asleep again that night as well – and not just because of his cousin's brazen nature. Now that he knew what to listen for, he could hear the wind howling through the cracks, slamming doors, whistling eerie melodies in the corridors – even down here in the dungeons.

The ceiling trembled ever so slightly with every strike of lightning that hit the lake above him.

Expressionlessly, he stared at his canopy, wondering if thunderstorms would ever be the same for him again – more than another reminder, another prompt to remember London. Restlessly, he turned around, trying to ignore Yaxley's loud snoring.

It hadn't always been like that.

Resorting to yet another Occlumency technique, he forced himself to remember another night, a night of his childhood, a different night under a roof besieged by lightning.

'I'm afraid!' Daphne had cried, holding on to his arm as if her life depended on it, her tears soaking through his robes. 'Make it go away!'

In her younger days, Daphne had always had little love for thunderstorms during the night, he remembered. But why that was, he had never understood.

With a sinking feeling, Harry finally understood why Daphne had taken it upon herself to cheer up that Harper boy though.

 _He must remind her of her younger self..._

Harry stared into the gloom until he realised with a groan that his thoughts had been straying again.

'I'm afraid!' she had cried, clinging to him.

'There's nothing to be afraid of!' he had said. Thunder and lightning had never frightened him. If anything, he'd always felt a quiet sense of belonging and security during stormy weather. Marietta and the rest of them had always left him alone on such days, and most social events would be cancelled, especially during the summer season. Thunder and lightning had been his friends; he'd even named his first pet Tempest.

An owl, a beautiful, noble white owl with streaks of black – just like lightning. It had been a present. From Sirius. Or Lupin? He couldn't even remember anymore...

Marietta had taken the animal from him as punishment for some long-forgotten misdeed. She'd given it to the gardener, telling him to get rid of it.

Harry had watched from his window, horrified, as the ghastly little man had hurled the bird against the garden fence.

Marietta had seen to his dismissal, shrieking like a banshee, but what good did that do? His friend was dead. The next day, Marietta had told him Tempest had gotten sick and had to be taken care of far away. He had never told her he'd seen it all...

Harry's eyes, back in the Slytherin dormitory, shot open, realising with increasing nervousness that he couldn't get a hold of his restless mind.

'What the hell is wrong with me...?' he mumbled, turned around again, forcefully shutting his eyes.

Deliberately slow, to the sound of faint rumbling, he counted to ten.

'There's nothing to be afraid of!' he remembered saying, back then even more than today stumped what to do about the crying girl.

'It's scary!' Daphne had cried, squeezing his arm. 'I hate it!'

'It isn't scary!' he protested, frowning and feeling offended for his friend, the storm.

'It's scary!' repeated Daphne, shaking violently.

'It's not!' little Harry insisted, trying to tug his arm free. 'Look! Lightning's amazing!'

Daphne grabbed his arm even tighter, burying her head in his shoulder. 'I don't want to see! I don't want to!'

With a scowl, Harry wiggled in her grip, but the surprisingly strong girl just wouldn't let go. Silently, they glared at one another, one seeking comfort in the presence of another, the other through distance. A few tugging motions eventually turned into wrestling, each of them struggling to get whatever they wanted.

A few moments later, both of them were screaming mirthfully, tussling with all their might for supremacy, tugging, tickling, pulling on clothes and – in Daphne's case – hair.

Daphne eventually got the better of him, pinning him to the ground with a triumphant smirk.

'I win!' she proclaimed proudly.

'I went easy on you,' he said, completely out of breath and pretending that he hadn't lost to a girl. He was also desperately trying not to imagine how Sirius would wind him up.

Daphne seemed to find the situation as amusing as he feared his godfather would. Laughing brightly, she raised her hands into the air like a true champion. 'I win! Wait until I tell Daddy and Uncle Sirius!'

'No, please!'

'Daddy will be so proud!'

Embarrassed, Harry looked away, Sirius' outrageous barks of laughter already ringing in his ears.

'...Unless,' started Daphne slowly, her hands falling down again. 'Unless you stay here.'

Confused, Harry looked up again. The girl that was supposed to be his cousin looked back at him, her lips trembling. 'Please?' she asked in a pleading tone.

After a second, Harry admitted defeat against her puppy dog eyes. 'Okay,' he grumbled. 'But you have to watch it with me!'

'What?' she asked reluctantly.

Slowly, Harry sat up. 'Turn around.'

Daphne slowly turned around, now facing the big panorama window. A vicious bolt of lightning struck the hill not a mile away, the glorious roll of thunder following only two seconds later.

'I don't want to look!' she cried out, hiding her eyes behind her hands, shaking her head.

'No,' Harry said impatiently, grabbing both of her hands, wrapping his arms around her to keep her from looking away. She didn't resist.

'Look,' he murmured into her ear, waiting for the next awe-inspiring display of overwhelming power.

When the next lightning came, Daphne gave another stupendous start, but at least she didn't look away this time.

'Isn't it awesome?' he mumbled, goggling longingly into the dead of night. Daphne, clinging to his arms as if they were a lifeline, didn't answer.

Harry felt himself disconnect from his memory. He wondered what kind of face Daphne had made. He wished he could see it now but knew better than to try.

It was his memory, and young Harry hadn't really paid much attention to the girl in his arms, which – in hindsight – was probably the only reason he had tolerated the close contact to begin with. Thinking back, this might have been the first time he'd tolerated her, or any girl for that matter, being this close for longer than a mere moment.

Sitting down on the ghost of cherry wood, he stared into the heart of the storm, just like his younger self, a melancholic smile tugging at his lips, feeling a small part of his troubles lift with every glistening strike of violent light, with every pounding of the deafening thunder – crushed beneath the unimaginable power of nature.

The storm raged longer than he remembered, but Harry didn't care. Blissfully, he awaited every bolt with anticipation, feeling like a six-year-old all over again, barely refraining from clapping as a particularly phenomenal lightning struck the earth a few hundred yards away.

The storm was getting closer, he realised delightedly.

He looked up in confusion when little Harry and Daphne stood up, the boy looking disappointed, the girl considerably cheered up.

Fifteen-year-old Harry frowned. This wasn't right. He remembered, he _knew_ they'd watched the entirety of the storm in silence, watched until the last rumbling echoes of thunder had diminished into inaudibility.

'That was fun!' said his memory.

'It was okay,' returned Daphne bashfully.

His brow wrinkled in confusion, Harry looked from the figures of his memory to the panorama window again. The storm was as vicious as ever – a true king of storms, the gale bending the trees like grass to its whims.

'Wanna play hide and seek?' asked Daphne, as he had known she would.

'I don't know,' young Harry returned, rightly fearing the unfair advantage of a match at her home.

'Come on! Hide and seek is fun!'

Perplexed, Harry's gaze wandered from the approaching storm to the two figures who seemed to remain completely oblivious to it.

 _What in Merlin's name...?_

He watched his younger self reluctantly give in, leaving the room together with the girl.

The whole house shook with the thunder as the boy returned only a minute later to hide underneath the bed. He was completely unaware of the lightning, his beloved lightning, pouring like rain from the ash-coloured clouds.

Footsteps, barely audible over the cannonade of thunder, and then the girl arrived, just as another bolt of pure violet lightning struck the patio in front of the window.

The girl sniggered, went straight for the bed, crouched down and shouted,

'Found-'

 _:::YOU!:::_

Harry awoke to a bloodcurdling scream of terror.

The scream went on and on, the threatening thunder still fulminating in his ears, until he realised it was his own voice screaming. The clamour died away with the realisation, but – looking around – he realised with a rush of panic that he wasn't in his dormitory anymore.

'Harry, Harry!' cried present-time Daphne, pressing him tightly against her to restrain his flailing limbs. Tears were running down her face. 'I've been so worried! You wouldn't wake, you just wouldn't wake!'

From the other side of his bed, he heard Poppy say, 'It's alright, Harry – it's alright. You're in the infirmary. You've been comatose for nearly two days.'

His throat felt hoarse – as if he'd been screaming for days. He brought a shaky hand to his lips, gazing blankly at his fingers as they came away with a smudge of crimson.

'Blood...' he mumbled, coughing violently, wincing as the back of his throat burned with hot pain. Holding his breath, he gaped at the blood on his fingertips.

'You've been screaming for nearly three minutes before you awoke,' said Poppy, more to Daphne, who was about to break out in tears again, than Harry. 'He must've injured his throat, nothing to worry about, Miss Greengrass.'

'Blood,' he repeated, ignoring the pain as he gave another wheezing cough.

Poppy gave him a stern glance. 'Harry, are you feeling alright? You're not feeling light-headed, are you?'

'Merlin's beard, it wasn't the runes. It wasn't the room at all. She was wrong, too!' he muttered, his eyes widening with fear. 'It's my blood!'

'Harry? What are you talking about?' demanded Poppy sternly.

'...Harry?' whispered Daphne fearfully, clutching his arm.

But Harry, after a short look at Daphne, turned his head away from both his cousin and the matron. Instead, he met the golden gaze of Tracey, who was slowly backing away, shaking her head as if denial could make it any less real.


	44. VoD: Corvus oculum corvi non eruit I

**Corvus oculum corvi non eruit (I)**

* * *

Tracey gaped at him, her big eyes wide with horror and her typically rosy skin even paler than his.

'What are you talking about, Harry?! Explain yourself right this instant!' demanded Poppy, looking angry and confused.

But Harry was helplessly at sea.

Looking around for help, he finally realised that not only Daphne and Tracey were present. Leo, standing on the other side of his bed, was monitoring both him and Tracey, clearly trying to decipher the strange reactions. Amy, on the other hand, was loitering in the background, her alert grey eyes observing his every move.

Harry stared back at her.

'Start trusting your instincts!'

With stupendous effort, he forcefully calmed his erratic heart, brutally beating down all unnecessary emotions and thoughts.

He made a show of sighing exaggeratedly before he calmly leant back again, his head resting comfortably on the fluffy pillow. 'Merlin!' he said with a sheepish grin, relaxing as best he could. 'Sorry about that – worst nightmare ever!'

Poppy and Tracey goggled as if he'd sprouted a second head. Amy raised an eyebrow.

'So, er, what seems to be the problem, Poppy? Did I accidentally poison myself in Potions or...?'

'What are you talking about?' she whispered, her beady eyes searching his for any clue as to what was happening.

'Well, I just assumed it must've been something different than me banging my skull against the bed-head.' As if misinterpreting their lasting looks of confusion, he furrowed his brow, slowly running his hand over the back of his head. 'Wait, I didn't really...'

'Of course, you didn't!' snapped Poppy, looking immensely relieved despite the brusque manner of her speech. 'Goodness me, you gave me a nasty shock, Harry. So you're feeling alright? Nothing wrong? No dizziness, delayed eye reaction, headache – nothing?'

'No?' he said, ignoring the pulsing pain in his temple and looking puzzled. 'Er, is it really Thursday already?'

It was at this point that Daphne finally collapsed completely, burying him under her, crying endless tears of relief. Even with him gently stroking her back and whispering in a voice he knew from experience should soothe her, it took nearly fifteen minutes to calm her down again.

 _~BLVoD~_

'And what happened next?' asked Albus Dumbledore, leaning forward, his fingers steepled.

'Well,' said the matron, looking vaguely embarrassed. 'Nothing really. He just lay there, enduring my treatment.'

'And he didn't say anything more?'

'Nothing extraordinary, no. I asked him a few more questions about his condition, but he answered all of them in a rather calm fashion. I don't mind telling you that he seemed rather bored, Albus.'

'Indeed,' hummed Dumbledore. 'I seem to recall that you were rather close to the boy.'

'Well, as close as any of the staff, I assume. I hear he spends quite some time with Filius and Rose, but other than that...?'

'Does he usually suffer his treatment so compliantly?'

The matron blinked, taking a step back, her eyes wandering between the intense-looking headmaster and the taciturn Potions Master, who was apparently watching something through the window. 'No,' she admitted reluctantly. 'He's the uncooperative sort.'

Albus nodded, carefully tapping a little silver instrument with his wand.

'Did you notice any...gestures or anything else that might have seemed out of place or strange at the time?' asked Severus Snape, still staring outside.

'No! I mean, I think I saw him winking at the Lestrange girl once, but they're friendly, aren't they? I just assumed he was embarrassed about that poor Greengrass girl losing her head like that.'

'Perhaps...' agreed Severus in a tone that indicated that he didn't agree at all.

'And when did you notice he was missing, Poppy?'

'Why, just now, of course! I came to find you immediately after I'd made sure he wasn't anywhere near the infirmary.'

'Headmaster! Headmaster!' cried a portrait of a man with pale skin and only a few wisps of grey hair, leaning against the border of his frame, cheeks burning from exhaustion.

'Yes, Armando?'

'We've searched the entire castle – even the other common rooms. He isn't here. A few other Slytherins seem to be missing as well!'

Dumbledore stood up at once with the quickness of a much younger man. 'Then we must act quickly. Everard!'

'Yes?' called another man from within his portrait, standing up from the throne he was painted on.

'Please inform me at once when the Minister or the Aurors get involved!'

'I had a look just now, and the entire Ministry seems deathly silent, but I'll keep a lookout.' Nodding grimly, the ancient headmaster walked out of his portrait, vanishing from Hogwarts' grounds.

'There's one more thing,' said Madame Pomfrey hesitantly.

'Yes, Poppy?' asked Dumbledore, halting in movement and peering at her from over his half-moon glasses.

'I...I know this sounds ridiculous,' she said defensively. 'But when I examined Harry while he was still unconscious, I found a bite mark on his left side.'

'Yes?'

'I don't know if this has any relevance. But – oh, to hell with it – Albus, he had a recent Chimaera bite!'

'How recent?' inquired Dumbledore, eyebrows raised.

'A few days at most.'

The headmaster, who had been in the process of reaching for the doorknob, straightened his back, lowering his hands.

'Impossible!' barked Snape, whirling around. 'There has only been one Chimaera sighting in Britain in more than two hundred years! And even that was – for all intents and purposes – a freak accident!'

'Are you quite certain of this?' asked Dumbledore with a searching look.

'You know very well I made my mastery in Greece!'

'And you're positive it was a Chimaera and not, for instance, a particularly large lion?'

The matron huffed shirtily. 'Don't test me, Albus! Their set of teeth are entirely different. It was a very _small_ Chimaera, as a matter of fact, but I'm absolutely certain. I even checked my old records because I couldn't believe it myself!'

The two men in the room exchanged a short look.

'Severus, I need you to get Minerva, Rendall and Antonius at once. We'll gather at the entrance. Poppy, please inform Hagrid that I require his assistance.'

Potions Master and matron nodded, rushing through the door. Dumbledore, however, hesitantly cast one last look at the silver instrument he'd been fiddling with earlier. It was a delicate machine of his own making, hundreds and hundreds of tiny cogs whirling and spinning soundlessly, some entirely unsupported by any spindle or axis.

Three rings were marked by filigree letters engraved into the silver. One read 'NwFrst', another 'Crphll', and the last 'FrbddnFrst'.

None betrayed even a hint of movement.

'Lost something, have you, Albus?' called an amused-sounding voice from over his head.

Albus looked up into the eyes of yet another erstwhile headmaster, his eyes lingering on the signet ring on the man's right hand.

'Phineas... I suppose it would be a stretch to assume that you haven't informed Arcturus already?'

'You know very well that I can't betray the trust of the current headmaster,' said the man, straightening his robes and leisurely taking a seat. With a cocky grin, he stroked his goatee. 'But between the two of us, Albus, you might want to hurry.'

With a frown, Dumbledore carefully pocketed the device, unsure if he should feel relief or worry. With hasty steps, he descended the stairs and flew towards the Entrance Hall.

Thankfully, Severus, Rendall and Antonius were already there.

'The situation is urgent,' he said, nodding towards the new arrivals, 'and we need to leave at once. I shall explain everything on the way. Where is Minerva, Severus? We need her to keep an eye on affairs here!'

'I was unable to locate her, Headmaster.'

Dumbledore frowned. With a tap of his wand, the gigantic portal moaned and creaked, the heavy oak slowly creeping outwards. As soon as the gap was wide enough for one person to slip through, Dumbledore took a step forward.

Problem was, someone was already standing just outside.

'Ah, just the very man,' said Arcturus Black with a humourless smile, refusing to back away and forcing Dumbledore to take a step back again. 'I apologise for the late call, Headmaster. These honourable ladies and gentlemen,' he indicated a group of prim looking wizards and witches behind him, 'represent the entirety of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, as I'm sure you are aware.'

'Lord Black,' mumbled Dumbledore, his mind racing. Nodding politely towards the rest of the Board, he said, 'I'm afraid you caught me rather indisposed. Would it be possible to delay this happy meeting for a few more hours? I'm sure you would like to take a moment to warm yourselves – and perhaps have a strong drink?'

'I think not, Dumbledore,' drawled Lucius Malfoy. 'But you may return to your night-time business after our inspection of your faculty – with all your teachers and the security you've seen fit to bill us present, naturally,' he added with a smirk at Antonius. 'Unless, of course, you believe one single title is really all your advanced age allows...?'

 _~BLVoD~_

'We made it!' exclaimed Daphne, leaning against the back wall of the Three Broomsticks to take a breather.

'Can you believe our luck?' snarled Amy angrily. 'That stupid rug of a cat just had to cross our paths. Nice _Jelly-Brains_ , by the way, Harry!'

Harry just lay on the ground, coughing violently. The back of his throat felt like parchment and his head, in a commendable effort not to be outdone, like a merry-go-round – one that was on fire. In all honesty, he considered it a great achievement that he still hadn't thrown up.

'You really should have taken Care for Magical Creatures, Harry. I believe a bit of fresh air now and then would do your constitution some good,' said Leo drily, looking – if anything – just a tad sweaty.

'Is this really, really alright?' asked Daphne, peering around the corner. Just then, the door to the pub suddenly burst open, and a throng of drunken patrons spilt into the streets, jeering and laughing noisily. When a bird crowed loudly above their heads, Daphne gave a huge jump, looking as guilty as sin.

'You don't need to come with us if you think you can't handle it,' said Amy in a teasing tone.

Daphne glared at Amy so fiercely that Leo, apparently, felt the need to step between them. 'Before we start questioning who, shouldn't we ask Harry first "why"? And possibly "where to"?'

'One second,' replied Harry in a wheezing voice, panting heavily. 'Merlin, Hogsmeade is farther from the castle than I thought.'

Amy sniggered cattishly, but she held out her hand for him to take nevertheless. 'Up you go, old man. So, what's going on?'

'Yes, what _is_ going on, Harry?' asked Leo. 'When Amy told me that she was about to sneak into the infirmary because you wanted something, I didn't really anticipate us fleeing the castle like this.'

'It's about... _them_ , isn't it?' asked Tracey in a small voice, speaking for the first time since their arrival in the infirmary.

Harry, taking one giant breath, forced himself to concentrate whilst flourishing his wand skywards. ' _Cave Inimicum!_ '

Rubbing his still stinging temple, he said, 'I know this must come as a surprise – I assure you it was the same for me. But I've realised something since waking up. The Lethifolds...they aren't gone. They'll never be gone. They're always going to come back!'

'What are you talking about?' asked Leo, confused. 'They're not...Revenants. I'm positive Dumbledore's charm should have destroyed them.'

'Listen!' repeated Harry impatiently. 'I don't have time to explain it in great detail right now, but the Lethifolds...are tied to this world by the willing sacrifice of a human.' Seeing Daphne's horrified expression, he concluded that his attempt to gloss over the details had backfired spectacularly. 'Blood, Daphne. My...thesis is that their summoning must have been messed up somehow – I don't know exactly how! The point is, they'll always come back as long the blood that was used to call them, the blood the Lethifolds and their...invoker share, runs through his veins. They have been destroyed twice already; and without fail, they've returned.'

What Harry didn't dare to mention right now, despite his protective spell and the trust he had in the people around him, was that – finally – he also understood the meaning behind his erratic sleeping pattern. The Lethifolds needed power to exist in this world – a power they usually tried to gain through sustenance. But he, Harry, had been a much more convenient, ignorant source of that very power. In Harry's mind, there could not be a single doubt that his recent bout of unconsciousness meant that his creations were either about to return – or had done so already.

'You mean someone _summoned_ them? But we'll never be able to guess who that person is!' cried Daphne, looking only vaguely less horror-stricken.

'Luckily,' Harry went on, his guts squirming guiltily in response to both his poor cousin's current refusal to connect the dots and Tracey's scalding glare, 'we won't need to.'

'That's all fine and dandy,' interjected Amy sedately as if hunting for extra-dimensional nightmares was nothing more than what she'd expected on her Thursday evening, 'but you said they'd come back without fail. Does that mean they're back again?'

'I have no way of knowing for sure,' he admitted. 'But I rather think so, yes.'

'What gives you that impression?' asked Leo curiously.

'Well, I had a dream.' Seeing their expressions, he realised – for a second time – that maybe he should start paying attention to what his mouth uttered. 'It wasn't a normal dream. You were there when I woke up!'

'But you said...' began Daphne.

'Get a grip already! He was obviously trying to cover it all up with Pomfrey,' snapped Tracey in an uncharacteristic display of sour mood.

'Oh...'

'Anyway, after thinking it through this afternoon, I realised that I'd forgotten something – something that had been right under my nose for almost the entire year! I always thought the first deaths or confirmed appearances of the Lethifolds were near the North Sea last summer,' he explained, starting to pace and choosing to not mention Aenor's break-in.

'The fishermen,' said Leo, nodding.

Only half-surprised, Harry nodded at his cousin. 'Yes, but there were disappearances before that – several in fact. It's just that it never occurred to me that they'd be connected!'

'Where?' demanded Daphne, holding her breath.

Rummaging in his robes, he produced the latest edition of the Prophet. The page he held high wasn't the front page, however. Rather, it was a very small article near the bottom of a page that looked like it was near the end of the paper.

'Head of Department facing enquiry about missing workers'

'The Ministry?' Daphne spluttered disbelievingly. 'Those...those horrors come from within the Ministry?'

'Yes. Something in there must allow them passage.'

'Any idea what it could be?' asked Amy.

'Considering that the location of the department would have to be remote, as well as the Prophet's refusal to name the department or its head, and lastly the nature of the magic, I'd say only one location remains as a real possibility.'

Neither Daphne nor the Lestranges seemed to understand, but it wasn't exactly expected for children attending Hogwarts to have intricate knowledge of the Ministry or its layout – especially the deeper levels.

Most children. 'The Department of Mysteries,' breathed Tracey. Seeing her best friend's failure to understand, she added, 'The Department of Mysteries is on the lowest level, Daphne, as are the old courtrooms. But they haven't been used since the Grindelwald trials, so there's only that one department left...'

'Harry, as glad as I am that you're finally deciding to do something rather than sitting in the library and planning,' said Amy with a smirk, 'are you really suggesting that we break into the Ministry because you had a _dream_?'

'It does seem a little...excessive,' admitted Leo.

'Anyway, the Aurors and Dumbledore will take care of it, won't they?' asked Daphne.

Harry groaned, rubbing his temples. _Would he really have to explain it all? Right here behind the Three Broomsticks?!_

'I've had the same dream.'

Through his fingers, Harry – just like Daphne, Amy and Leo – looked in surprise at Tracey. The short witch was grinding her teeth. 'Two nights ago.'

Amy and Leo exchanged a short glance – as did Daphne and Harry.

'This is bad business...' Daphne muttered uncomfortably. 'We shouldn't be meddling with dreams and Lethifolds!'

'Why not?' countered Amy as if everything had been settled. 'Let's break into the Department of Mysteries. Should be fun!'

'Shouldn't we get Hermione?' asked Leo suddenly. 'She's been a part of this as much as we have.'

'Oh, please!' snapped Daphne.

'NO!' shouted both Tracey and Harry.

'If there's even the smallest risk of us encountering Lethifolds, we can't take her with us!' added Tracey, looking faintly disgusted at their rare display of harmony.

'Why?' asked Daphne, now eyeing her best friend as if she'd never properly seen her before.

'Because she will die,' answered Harry with brutal honesty. 'Die before she's even realised what killed her – if she's lucky.'

A sudden gust of wind blew over their little gathering, and even Harry couldn't help shivering.

'The only reason why I'm taking you with me is that I know every one of you has studied Occlumency to some degree. But – and I want you to listen to me very carefully – if we even get an inkling that the Lethifolds are near, I want all of you to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction. I'm probably the only one of us who'll even be able to _attempt_ casting a spell in their presence.'

Tracey nodded grimly, as did Leo. Amy shrugged, but Harry still took that as a yes. There was, however, one last person that would likely prove a bit more challenging to persuade.

'Daphne...?'

'But I can't just leave you behind!' she begged. 'I can help you!'

'No, you can't!' Unexpectedly, it was – again – not him but Tracey who spoke.

Angrily, Daphne turned around, glaring at her friend. 'I'm not helpless!' she shouted. 'I can take care of myself.'

'No, you can't! Against those monsters, you're like a Flobberworm facing an army of trolls!'

'She's right, Daphne,' said Leo, a tad more empathic than Tracey. 'Common curses won't work – only very specialised magic will affect them in any major way. Many Aurors wouldn't make it.'

'But then how could Harr-'

'I...I've got an advantage when it comes to dealing with them. I've done it before, Daphne – just barely. Please, I need you to trust me. You do trust me, don't you?'

She toppled, almost as if the words had physically hurt her. 'W-What? Of course, I do!' she whined reproachfully.

'Then do I have your word that you'll run when I tell you to?'

She squirmed under his gaze, tears in her eyes.

'Daphne!'

She averted her gaze. 'Yes...' she mumbled in a voice so low that it was almost inaudible.

'So how is this going to work?' asked Amy. 'Fly to London and kick down the front door?'

'Well, I don't see an alternative,' confessed Harry. Putting it like that, it didn't sound like much of a plan at all.

'The Portkey,' sniffed Daphne, rubbing her eyes.

'Oh. Oho!' Amy grinned wickedly. 'Fantastic! Knew that thing would come in handy sooner or later.'

'What Portkey?' asked Tracey warily.

'We presented Daphne with a Portkey to the Ministry last year,' said Leo excitedly. 'Alright! This is going to be fun!'

'How the hell did you get your hands on an _extremely illegal_ Ministry Portkey?' demanded Tracey, her eyes in danger of popping out of their sockets.

'Stole if from my mum!' bragged Amy with immense pride.

Harry winced. 'You're really brave, you know that, Amy?'

She smiled at him, clearly considering this a great compliment. 'Thanks!'

'So where is this notorious Portkey? Do we have to make a detour to London?' he asked.

'Er, no. I, you know, it didn't feel right to leave it at home... It's in my trunk!' answered Daphne, looking somewhat embarrassed.

'You brought that with you? Into Hogwarts? Right under Dumbledore's nose?' Amy looked at Daphne with obvious respect. 'You're bolder than I thought!'

'So...does that mean one of us has to get back inside?' asked Daphne with a quizzical grin, clearly unsure how to interpret Amy's 'praise'.

'That's not a good idea, I think,' opined Leo. 'They'll be looking for us if Pomfrey noticed you're gone, Harry.'

Harry nodded, having come to the same conclusion. But they didn't need to anyway. His wand shot into his palm with practised ease. ' _Accio Daphne's trunk that she's hidden under her pillow!_ '

Amy looked at him with playful amusement. 'That seems like an oddly specific bit of information.'

'Sweet Morgana!' groaned Tracey, looking sick. 'You didn't _do_ anything in our dormitory while I was sleeping in there, did you?'

Harry stared at her, feeling the heat crawl up his spine. 'What?! No!' In righteous outrage, he looked towards his left. Daphne, however, was shyly shuffling her feet, evading their eyes, her whole behaviour screaming guilty. 'Tell them already, Daphne!'

Daphne glanced up at him. To his horror, she seemed to be enjoying the misunderstanding. 'Don't worry, Tracey. Harry made sure you wouldn't wake.'

Amy exploded with laughter. Even Leo looked at him with some amount of amusement. Harry was just about to consider sinking into the earth to evade the embarrassment when Amy clapped him on the back. 'You're too easy, Harry!'

When he looked up again, he realised that even Tracey was smirking at him. 'Don't worry. It's entirely unbelievable that you'd have the nerve!'

Daphne clicked her tongue, apparently displeased that her ruse had been seen through so easily. Harry, on the other hand, focused with his entire being on the approaching box.

Not dignifying his friends with another look, he wordlessly handed the shrunken trunk to Daphne. His cousin, her mood mysteriously brightened, took the stupid thing and started rummaging at once, her entire arm vanishing in the little trunk that wasn't any bigger than a common matchbox.

It took a while. Harry had seen first-hand what strange devices, books, and ingredients the girl had seen fit to store there, not even speaking of her wardrobe that seemed even more excessive than his own. Eventually, Daphne produced an eerily dull-looking dark cube.

Harry frowned as he took it in his hand. Whatever this was, he'd never seen its like. The stone, if the word was even applicable, seemed unnaturally finely carved while still giving the impression that it hadn't been worked on at all. The texture was all sorts of strange, too. Even though the material was dull and lacklustre, he thought he saw something glimmering within – or was it a reflection?

'What is this?' he murmured, revolving the object in his hands.

'Haven't got a clue,' admitted Amy frankly. 'But I'm reasonably sure it's a Portkey to the Ministry. You know, the sort they issue essential personnel like the Minister.'

Harry closed his eyes, only to open them again twice – in a manner of speaking. Thousands of buzzing lines connected a glowing orb in the middle of the object to any point of the surface, each of them shifting with the pulses that ran every third of a second through the whole object. In short, it was as if he was staring at an ever-shifting ball of energised wool.

Only three seconds later, he angrily shut his eyes again, already feeling the first signs of a mild headache.

'I, er, I think we might have a problem,' he said with a rueful smile. 'I've never seen anything like it, I'm afraid.'

'Well, hurry it up and get acquainted, will you?' said Amy. 'I don't think we should linger here for very long! Who knows when Dumbledore himself will come striding down that lane!'

'It's a Portkey,' Tracey pointed out as if she was talking to a little kid. 'I know you can do the spell. How difficult can it be to figure that one out?'

Harry looked at her, struggling to come up with an explanation. True, he _could_ cast the spell, but it wasn't the same – not the same at all. How could he explain that building a little mound in a sandbox wasn't quite the same as scaling the forbidding and inhospitable heights of the highest of mountain ranges?

Those words didn't come to him quite as easily at the moment, however, and he simply goggled helplessly at the tangled mass of complexity.

'Er, yeah,' he said awkwardly. 'I'll figure it out. Just – you know – give me a century or two.'

Daphne giggled, looking over his shoulder at her treasure as it rested in his hands. 'Don't worry, I know you'll get it right!'

'Harry?' called Leo, looking worried. 'I think someone's coming. This spell of yours will keep others out, right?'

'What?' replied Harry without looking up, absent-mindedly giving the object a nudge with his finger. 'No enemy of ours should notice us, don't worry.'

This time, with a look of concentration, he softly prodded the stone or whatever it was with his wand. To his delight, the buzzing intensified ever so slightly.

'And what about people that aren't our enemies?' called Leo urgently.

'What?'

'Er, that's Draco right there, walking directly in our direction. Do you think it'll work on him?'

'Uh-oh,' said Tracey with a grin. 'Hurry, Harry!'

'Excuse me,' said Harry indignantly. 'I'm ever so sorry for not figuring this out in an instant. This is about the most complex piece of enchantment I've seen in my entire life!'

'Okay, we'll forgive you this one time, but right now really would be a good time to get going!' hissed Amy.

'Guys?'

Harry's eyes were glued to the steadily increasing frequency of the buzzing, but even without looking up he could easily identify the voice.

'What are you all doing here?' called Draco incredulously. 'Did you bet Zabini as well? I can't believe that eyetie was willing to wager twenty Galleons that I wouldn't make it into Honeydukes during curfew!'

'Harry, we need you to figure this out – not indulge in your idle academic curiosity!' snapped Tracey with a hint of panic.

'Oops!' said Harry, eyeing the now softly glowing Portkey with increasing concern.

'Oops?' repeated Tracey apprehensively. 'What oops?! There's not going to be an oops! This will be an entirely oops-free operation! Do you hear me, Harry?'

'I, er, I seem to have set it off – just a bit.'

'Just a bit?! How can you set it off a bit? Do you even know where it's going? Stop it!'

'I can't! I've never seen a Portkey like this before!'

'Wait, so...what?!'

The Portkey wasn't so much glowing as gleaming now. 'Everyone, touch the Portkey!' yelled Harry in a panic.

'What?!' asked Draco, running towards them and leaning on Harry. 'What Portkey?!'

'NOT YOU, DRACO! LET G-'

It was precisely that moment the Portkey chose to activate.

 _~BLVoD~_

Curiously, riding this mysterious Portkey didn't feel at all like anything Harry could ever have expected. Instead of the spinning, he had the distinct impression of taking a dive in icy water, including the unwelcome sensation of his lungs contracting in panic.

With a thud and a lot of yelling, their little group crashed into the floor of a great foyer that the dim blue light failed to illuminate. Due to how his training sessions with Aenor usually ended, Harry – an expert on all matters of floors – could immediately tell that he was currently squashed against authentic Italian marble. Sadly, the five people on top of him prevented him from appreciating that.

'Get off!' he managed to shout despite the hand someone had inadvertently pressed over his mouth.

There was a lot of rustling, shifting, and moving – including someone painfully treading on his hand – but, eventually, he was free to stand up.

'Oops,' said Tracey in a not altogether convincing imitation of remorse. 'Sorry about that, Harry.'

'Wow, that was strange!' said Draco, curiously looking around.

Harry, straightening his robes and scowling at Tracey, had a look as well. More than a dozen fireplaces, softly glimmering in azure colours, decorated the great hall they had so unimpressively invaded in what must have been the most laughable break-in in Britain's history. To his right stood a little wooden desk labelled security. A steaming mug still stood on top, right next to yesterday's Prophet. The chair was overturned.

Hundreds of portraits hung, high and out of reach, on the wall – some colourful, some sombre, but every last one of them empty. So was the desk. So was the reception. So was every last hearth.

The entire atrium of the Ministry stood barren and silent.

'Er, why are we in the Ministry, guys?' asked Draco with a hint of panic. 'This is a joke, right?!'

Harry sighed. He really didn't want to deal with this right now.

'Hello?' insisted Draco loudly. 'This _is_ a joke, isn't it?'

'Pipe down!' hissed Amy. 'We're breaking into the Ministry, so use your common sense – no yelling!' Draco stared at her, frozen in the act of formulating an outraged response that seemed unlikely to come any time soon. Amy, finding amusement in his stupor, smiled. 'Welcome aboard!'

'Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no! No. NO!' Draco turned around, taking a few steps behind the security counter, possibly to check if this was all an elaborate hoax. 'We're really in the Ministry?' he whimpered, looking imploringly at Harry to tell him it wasn't true.

Harry grinned apologetically. 'Sorry, mate.'

'Sorry, mate?! You've got to send me back! Father will _kill_ me if I get caught here! Worse – he might actually disinherit me!'

'You should check your priorities, Malfoy,' muttered Daphne, rolling her eyes. But Harry could see that Draco's situation was a source of great joy for his cousin. They really didn't get along.

'The Portkey! Send me back with it!' insisted Draco.

'Not going to happen, Draco,' interjected Amy. 'We need that one. You're free to use the Floo, of course.'

'But they watch the Floo!'

Amy shrugged, disinterested. 'So what? It's just a fine.'

'Just a fine, just a fine,' mumbled Draco, looking vaguely deranged. 'What are you guys doing here anyway?' Looking at their grim expressions, he visibly recoiled. 'Wait! This isn't about your stupid monster hunt, is it? I said I wanted no part in it!'

'Oops!' said Leo with a penitent smile.

'This is all your fault, Leo!' whined Draco, grabbing Leo's robes and shaking him.

'I don't know what you're talking about, Draco. You didn't _have_ to grab the Portkey, you know?'

'Screw that bleeding Portkey! I hate you! It's always the same with you!' As if all life had left him, Draco slowly slumped down. 'My father will kill me,' he repeated again, hitting the floor with his fists. 'I'm so dead!'

'My mother _works_ at the Ministry, Draco. If I get caught here tonight, she'll lose her job. But do you see me bitching about the stupidity of this mission?' huffed Tracey impatiently, shifting sideways so her back was turned to Harry, her wand in her hand.

'Fine! Whatever! Just...do whatever it is you'll be doing. I'll wait here. If I get caught, I'll tell everyone that I was abducted. When you inevitably get caught too, you can back me up.'

'You really have some nerve, you stupid Maltese,' growled Daphne angrily, arms akimbo.

Before Draco could come up with another undoubtedly hot-headed response, a long and terribly drawn-out scream shook the entire floor. Slowly, so terribly slowly, it changed into a gurgling noise – until it stopped as abruptly as it had begun

For a few seconds, all of them stared apprehensively into the darkness ahead.

'I, er, I...I think I'll be sticking with you after all,' mumbled Draco, gripping his wand.

'What the hell was that?' whispered Daphne nervously.

'Have you seen any sign of security so far, Daphne?' Amy boldly took a few steps forward, tense and ready. 'Our arrival wasn't exactly the subtlest of entrances. And yet nobody's come running.'

'It's strange...' admitted Daphne, taking out her own wand.

'They're dead,' said Tracey, once again revealing her tic for speaking uncomfortable truths when upset.

'We don't know that!' insisted Daphne meekly.

Tracey just shook her head. 'Those things are monsters. No guard browsing his newspaper and slurping coffee would've stood a chance.'

'Come on,' said Harry. 'We'd better get moving.'

He walked up to Amy. With a nod, he ignited his wand just enough to reveal the floor a dozen yards further ahead.

'Where are we heading?' asked Draco, squinting his eyes, apparently fearing the worst.

'The Department of Mysteries.'

'I hate you, Leo!'

'What? This wasn't my idea I'll have you know!'

'It's still your fault. I just know it!'

Harry rolled up his sleeve, flexing his right hand. 'Remember – we're not here to fight the Lethifolds. We just need to look for their point of origin and shut it close. Let the Aurors deal with the monsters. Staying alive is our top priority.'

'Merlin, I hope so,' whispered Draco.

Everyone nodded at his words. Leo, Amy, and Tracey looked tense but ready for whatever there was to come.

Daphne walked up to him. 'Harry?' she whispered, casting nervous glances over her shoulder to check if someone could overhear her.

'Yes?'

'Do...do you think I'm a coward? Because, right now, I'm really, really scared.'

With a brief smile, Harry took her hand and gave it a squeeze. 'So am I.'

 _~BLVoD~_

Carefully, they flit from cover to cover, Harry and Amy leading, Tracey and Leo trailing as the rear guard, Daphne acting as a general lookout, and Draco fearing for his inheritance. Though maybe that was just his way of dealing with the stress because, to Harry's surprise, it was actually Draco who called for them to stop halfway to the elevators.

'Do you guys smell that?'

Harry and Amy jerked to a halt, raising their noses like a pair of rabbits. For a second, Harry couldn't make out anything particular. There was the scent of wand polish and belladonna, both of which he attributed to Amy. There was also the faint smell of wax, the stinging odour of germicide, and the general tang of the infirmary still sticking to his clothes. Other than that...

Turning his head, he caught a very gentle draught bringing the metallic stench of copper he would always recognise...

Narrowing his eyes, Harry peered into the darkness ahead, refusing to yield to the lack of light.

'It's blood,' said Amy, emotionless.

Harry froze. More light was out of the question, but the crepuscule was somehow worse than either extreme. It was blinding him to what lay ahead. ' _Nox!_ '

'Harry?' asked Daphne nervously.

'Shhh!' hissed Amy.

Slowly, the black and grey shades and shadows further down the hall started to come into focus. There, sure enough, were the golden doors of the lifts. But right there on the floor, beside the grate...there were shadows where there weren't supposed to be any. For a second, one shadow further down the hall rather looked like a crouched figure, but he couldn't make out any sign of movement even after half a minute. There was also something else, something equally worrying but much more pressing...

For a few more moments, Harry stared unaffected at two of the oozing piles of something...someone. Now that his eyes were fully adjusted to the lack of artificial light, he thought he saw something steely reflect the bluish hue of the Floo – like dog tags.

'How can you possibly see something? It's pitch-black!'

Harry's eyes darted to his left where Daphne had sneaked up on him. He didn't want her to see this.

'No lights. Everyone, take someone's hand. I'll lead, then Amy, Daphne, Draco, Leo. Tracey, you keep an eye on things in the back.'

'What? Why her?' whispered Leo.

'Because it makes the most sense,' he said enigmatically. 'Come on.' Without another word, he grabbed Amy's hand.

Like children, he led his friends towards their destination, one eye on the strange shadow from before, trying to sidestep as many of the gory puddles all around them as possible. But there were a lot of them.

'Ugh! I think I've stepped into something...sticky!'

'You'll be able to wash soon enough, little brother,' said Amy coolly.

'No wandlight!' snapped Harry, just to make sure Leo wouldn't give in to his unfortunate cleaning habits.

'Oh my god,' yowled Daphne. 'Can we get this over with? I can only breathe through my mouth for so long. This place smells like dragon dung!'

'No,' disagreed Amy matter-of-factly. 'It smells like a butchery.'

'Quiet!' Picking up the pace, Harry silently led his entourage forward, their nervous steps echoing on the marble and – sometimes – splashing just like a kid dancing in the puddles after a storm.

He was never so glad to finally reach a door. Hastily turning the handle and ignoring the 'goo' on the knob, he ushered his friends inside. With a sigh of relief, he pressed the number nine. When the shadowy nightmares of the first floor had vanished from his view, he closed his eyes, holding his left hand in front of them just to be sure.

'Okay, let's make a bit of light,' he said in a calm voice, flicking his wand, drawing it back, and flicking it again. Exercising a certain amount of caution, he silently focused. _Lumos Maxima!_

The effect was instantaneous. Despite his protective measures, he could see the back of his hand momentarily lighting up in angry red. The others, however, weren't impressed.

'What the fuck?!' shrieked Daphne, rubbing her eyes.

'Merlin!' cried Draco.

'What in Morgana's name was that?' yelled Amy angrily. 'Harry? Was that you?'

Ignoring his friends cursing, Harry opened his eyes. He had held back, of course; he didn't want them to suffer any permanent damage. But this would give him a few precious seconds. Igniting his wand with a more mundane _Lumos_ , he inspected his flailing, swearing, and eye-rubbing friends.

Their robes up to their knees were soaked red, their boots a mess of brown, red and other unspeakable things. A bit of gluey and almost unrecognisably defiled leather, presumably from a trench coat, had gotten caught in his bootlaces.

With a blank look, he waved his wand, slowly siphoning away the blood and grime. When Daphne and Amy, both leaning against the lift cage and swearing imaginatively, finally opened their red eyes, Harry had just finished tidying up.

'What the hell was that for?!' Amy was positively bristling with anger.

'I apologise!' he said, holding up his hands. 'The nerves, I suspect. Overdid it a bit.'

Amy glared suspiciously at him, clearly entirely unconvinced. Daphne just looked around, helping Tracey up. Her best friend seemed to have gotten the worst of the impromptu flashbang, panting heavily and looking distinctly green.

'Are you kidding me?!' ranted Draco, glowering at him through one teary eye. 'You want me to believe that _you_ messed up a charm as simple as Lumos?

'Even I make mistakes! Look, I'm sorry!'

Draco grumbled angrily for a while, rubbing his eyes. Leo, finally getting up, looked first at their boots, then at Harry. With an almost imperceptible nod at Harry, he put one arm around Draco, helping him up. 'Come on. Everyone can make mistakes. Remember your first flying lesson? I heard you didn't even grip the broom right.'

'That was something entirely different,' snapped Draco, looking embarrassed and – strangely – mollified.

A cool female voice interrupted their quarrel. 'Level 9: Department of Mysteries.' With a rattling clink Harry was sure would echo through the entire building, the door slid open.

They stood in a dark, forbidding corridor Harry had only ever seen in a Pensive, cold black walls opening every once in a while to give way to heavy doors that gave off an impression of neglect. The air was cold and stale.

'This way,' he whispered. 'Everyone, be wary of movement. When in doubt, fire f-'

Just then, a blindingly bright, steel-melting flame of orange and blue shot past him, searing his hair and crashing with an angry hiss into the stone wall a dozen yards further ahead.

For a few seconds, he stared numbly at the still sizzling flames, absent-mindedly patting his smoking hair. Incredibly, the flames seemed to be melting the stone. _Merlin..._

Harry gave a cough. 'Amy...?' he guessed.

'Saw movement,' she growled in a low voice. 'Fired first.'

Heads ducked, they scurried over to the softly red glowing part of the wall, keeping a certain amount of distance from the wall due to the scorching heat. Whatever had been on the wall or unfortunately lingering within a few feet, it definitely wasn't there anymore.

'Maybe a portrait?' proposed Tracey, looking further down the hall. 'There's a few of them down here, though these seem to be the last ones. I think Mum told me once that there weren't any in the actual confines of the department.'

'Whatever portrait it was, I think we can assume it thoroughly dealt with,' opined Daphne drily. 'Nice curse, Amy!'

'Thanks!'

Harry did not exactly feel the same way. That curse, whatever it had been, was exactly the sort of spell Bellatrix would approve of – deadly, reckless, and dangerous even to the caster, her allies, and all manner of furniture in a radius of at least 20 feet.

'Come on,' he said. 'We shouldn't test our luck tonight!'

Eventually, they reached a corridor with only one massive door at its end. The door, strangely smooth and clean, stood ever so slightly ajar, which was definitely lucky as it did not have any lock or knob Harry could make out.

Right in front of the door, with an expression of utter terror, crouched a man wearing a brown trench coat, wand clutched in his hand, a silent scream on his lips. He didn't move.

'Harry?' whispered Draco urgently. 'Why the hell is he facing this way? I thought whatever you guys are looking for is _in there_ , not coming from the outside!'

'It does seem strange,' agreed Leo, bending over the body.

'What are you doing?' asked Daphne, revolted.

'Checking for injuries.' They watched in silence as Leo examined the corpse, cutting clothing, looking at his eyes, carotid, and inspecting his skin in the soft light of his wand. 'He's still warm, but there's nothing. Whatever killed him didn't leave any physical evidence.'

'He died of fear?' Daphne inquired wide-eyed.

'Stranger things have happened,' responded Harry. 'We should get a move on.'

'Harry!' Tracey's voice was urgent. Her eyes, he noticed, weren't drawn to the corpse but to a tiny red symbol on the door. It looked like a cross in a circle, almost like paint. But the longer he stared, the more he got the impression that it was slowly fading. _A spell mark, perhaps?_

'What is it?' he asked.

'That mark – the Ministry's on lock-down. Nothing goes in or out: no Portkeys, no Apparition, no Floo. Only designated Portkeys like ours belonging to Aurors and certain executives should work. This place will be swarming with Aurors – the whole DMLE will be heading towards this place within the hour! It's procedure in case of foreign attacks.'

'Guess that means the Lethifolds are really back?' surmised Leo.

'Numbers don't mean anything,' said Harry grimly. 'Even a hundred Aurors don't stand a chance against a pack of Lethifolds down here. At least until someone invents a charm to let the sun rise underground!'

'Harry, you did listen to Tracey, did you? We'll never make it! Please, we should leave while we can, not go further in! We don't even know if our Portkey will work in the Department of Mysteries!' begged Draco. 'Be sensible, man! We should take to our heels and get out of this mess!'

'And how do you know the Aurors aren't already on the main level?' Harry retorted, equanimous. 'We'd be running straight into them.'

Draco cussed, tearing at his hair. 'Damn!'

'We should go on,' said Daphne, despite her anxious glances at the dead Auror. 'If Harry says this needs fixing, then we're going to fix this!'

'Well said,' agreed Amy, idly spinning her wand in her hand.

Leo nodded determinedly.

'I guess,' said Tracey, resigned. 'I knew it would come to this...'

Draco grumbled for a bit. Then, with the mad enthusiasm of someone feeling the noose tighten around his neck, he spoke out as if telling a story. 'Two wizards, two witches, and two half-bloods walk into the Department of Mysteries...'

'Shut up!' snarled Daphne. 'This isn't a joke!'

Amy ruthlessly kicked the dead Auror out of the way so they could fully open the door. Both Harry and Draco flinched a bit but followed their cousin. The time for these kinds of niceties was long past.

The door led into a dark, circular room. The walls, floor, and even the ceiling were entirely covered in sinful black marble that glowed with the eldritch light cast by the blue torches that hung beneath twelve doors that stood equispaced.

As soon as Tracey entered the room, the door behind them snapped shut.

'Why did you-' began Daphne, but her question was interrupted when the entire room shifted, rotating like a giant gyro, the doors on the wall blurring from the speed of the spinning motion.

'Merlin, I think I'm going to get sick!'

Nobody reacted to Draco's understandable reaction. Harry too felt rather queasy, forcing his gaze towards his feet to fight the rising nausea.

A few seconds later, the doors came to a sudden halt.

'What the hell?!' demanded Daphne. 'We don't even know which door we came through!'

Harry, looking from one indistinguishable shiny black door to the next, immediately realised that she was right. 'Tracey?'

'What?! I'm not an Unspeakable, you know?! This must be a measure to keep intruders out. The only thing I know is that there are at least half a dozen chambers beyond the entrance.'

'Are they interconnected? Or do we have to backtrack until we guess right?'

'I think the chambers are arranged in a circle, but I wouldn't bet on it. Honestly, I've never been down here!'

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Wand at the ready, he approached one door at random. Slowly, he ran his fingers down the highly polished marble. For a second, he considered allowing his second vision a bit of leeway, but – remembering his initial reaction to Hogwarts – he immediately thought better of it. Whatever the Unspeakables stored and researched down here, he was sure the place was positively drenched in magic. And he wouldn't be of help to his friends, bleeding from his eyes, ears and nose.

'Maybe we should open one at random?' proposed Daphne, walking up to him.

'I like it!' agreed Amy eagerly.

Harry grimaced, unconvinced. He didn't particularly feel like arbitrarily tearing open doors, but – admittedly – he also couldn't think of anything better. He was just about to point his wand towards the door in front of him when it suddenly crashed open.

A man, his face twisted in despair and horror, stumbled through, his trench coat bloody, one arm dangling stiff and useless from his shoulder. Whatever chamber he came from was ablaze with light, screams, and spellfire. He turned around, his eyes staring at Harry's in confusion – until they both heard a female voice shout, ' _Expulso!_ '

Harry's eyes widened as a huge explosion blasted the man into the room, slamming him into the ground. As soon as the man was out of the threshold, the door shut itself, causing the walls to spin again.

Draco cussed yet again, and Harry would have liked nothing better than to join in. The Auror didn't get up. Nor should he be able to, considered Harry angrily, given how twisted his limbs were.

'What the hell, Daphne!' Harry yelled irately.

'He was moving. Now he's not,' she returned resolutely. 'I'm not going to risk someone cursing you!'

'We could've gotten information from him!'

'Do you know any Legilimency?' interrupted Amy.

'No, but maybe we could've-'

'It's no use, Harry,' stated Tracey. She, too, didn't look particularly happy, and he could see her glancing at Daphne with a certain amount of apprehension. 'They're Aurors – not school children. They won't tell us anything. At least he's alive – probably.'

Harry averted his eyes, gritting his teeth.

Amy looked at him disapprovingly. 'You're too soft, Harry. Right now, it's us or them. For that matter, I'm not sure we should keep him alive; he saw you!'

'No!' Scowling, Harry marched towards downed Auror. 'We're not here to kill Aurors, damn it! Enough people have died due to my stupidity!' With an angry snarl, he pointed his wand at the Auror. ' _Obliviate!_ '

'That works, too, I guess,' admitted Amy with a shrug.

'Anyway,' said Leo, coughing politely and pointing towards the slowly decelerating doors. 'We're back to square one.'

'And I propose we don't visit the corridor that guy came from,' added Draco, pointing at the unconscious man. 'That place looked like a freaking war zone!'

Harry, still bent over the unknown Auror whom he now identified as one of those belonging to Antonius' outfit, furrowed his brow, casting a few charms to make sure the man would live. He saw the wisdom in his cousins' words, as different as their motivations likely were, but he just couldn't bring himself to listen. Indignant, he made to stand up again when his eyes fell on the man's left shoulder. It was more than stiff, he noticed; the skin – visible under a few tears in the man's uniform – seemed grey and unnaturally inflexible. And it stank of rot.

'Amy? Daphne? Come here, please.'

Daphne, avoiding his eyes, walked over. So did Amy, though the Lestrange sister did not appear fazed in any way. Harry was upset, but he realised this wasn't the time. He'd always known that Amy could be more than just ruthless. Daphne, on the other hand...Her dependency on him was probably less than healthy at times. It couldn't be helped – really. Sadly, obsession cut both ways. But this wasn't the time! He needed both girls, and not just because they had skills in areas he didn't particularly excel in...

'That wound,' he said, trying to not sound wroth. 'What do you think?'

Both girls bent over the man, had a look at the stony flesh, shared a glance, and turned towards him again.

'Definitely a curse,' diagnosed Daphne.

'Pretty Dark Magic,' supplemented Amy, prodding the infected area with her wand.

'How advanced?' inquired Harry.

'Very,' replied Daphne curtly, still evading his gaze.

Amy nodded. 'Could be a real petrification. That's as dark as curses get, really. Honestly, I'm amazed he managed to contain the curse.'

 _What the hell is going on?! Lethifolds don't use magic like that._

Harry sighed. When he was about to turn away, Daphne grabbed his sleeve. 'Look, Harry, I'm sorry,' she breathed in a pleading tone. 'But I'm not going to stand by and let anyone hurt you – ever! You can't demand that from me. Anything but that!'

Harry rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 'I know...'

'Harry?'

They both turned around. Tracey and Draco were huddled around one of the many doors.

'What is it?'

'It seems we can mark the doors. Look! This one still has a splash of blood on it.'

Harry nodded, feeling some amount of relief that they didn't have to visit that place. Whatever battle was going on there, he was sure he wanted no part of it.

With his wand, he drew a glowing, orange skull on the door, the charm burning into the marble. 'Good enough?'

Leo, walking over, nodded.

'Yes, now there's _only_ eleven left,' muttered Draco sarcastically. 'We'll be out in a jiffy!'

'So, I guess we're back to guessing?' asked Amy.

'Yes,' replied Harry. 'Be prepared. But – and I'm not going to repeat that – only hex or curse when there's no other option! We don't know how many Aurors are down here, and we'll never be able to escape if they notice us!'

Tracey and, unsurprisingly, Draco looked a bit relieved. Amy gave a non-committal shrug. Harry decided that he'd just have to hope for the best. With a nod to everyone, he opened another door at random.

The hall beyond was so impossibly wide and high that even Harry felt awed, his eyes locked on the tremendous and perfectly scaled model of the solar system. He could _feel_ the heat of the sun, blazing in the centre of the room, its entire surface a flowing, thermodynamic marvel to behold. He couldn't actually make out Earth. Jupiter and Saturn, giants in their own right and yet comically dwarfed by the sun, were aligned in such a way that they were blocking their view of the inner planets.

What they weren't blocking, however, was another door leading to yet another unknown chamber. What they also weren't blocking were the three Aurors cowering next to the door, out of breath, some – by the looks of it – wounded.

'Let's bail!' hissed Draco. 'They haven't seen us yet!'

'Let's attack!' Amy, grinning, shot back. 'They haven't seen us yet!'

'Are you mad?' wailed Draco, unnaturally high-pitched.

Amy shrugged. 'Three problems less.'

'This is madness! Harry, tell me you're with me here!'

Harry was about to admit that Draco's advice sounded a lot more plausible, but then he had another look at the Aurors. They weren't looking in their direction at all – as if they knew that whatever worried them was beyond the door they were cowering behind.

'Under normal circumstances,' began Daphne slowly, 'I'd reluctantly agree with the bleached mutt. But not only do they look like they're taking a breather, they also seem wary of the room ahead. What if they decide to flee and stumble into the Room of Doors when we're unprepared?'

Draco blanched.

'That does seem like the worst-case scenario,' said Leo. 'If there really are Aurors already behind us – and we have no way of knowing for sure – we'll be boxed in.'

'Tracey?' mumbled Harry, willing to hear all of their opinions.

The petite witch scowled. 'Seems like a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea.'

Harry really didn't want to tangle with Aurors. Even if his little group had an over-abundance of talent, those people down there were the very best and – frankly – completely out of their league. Despite their injuries, they'd be more than a match for any of them, any pair of them. Then again, this wouldn't be a test of strength. With any luck, they might make a clean sweep without giving them any chance to retaliate.

'Leo, Draco,' he whispered, 'the both of you take the short one on the right. Amy, Tracey, the one in the middle. Daphne, we'll take the one on the left. This is an ambush, guys – not a fight. We'll sneak through the Kuiper Belt until we're within thirty yards. Then, we'll open fire on my sign and on my sign only. One of you aims to distract and unbalance, the second one to incapacitate.' With a meaningful glance at Amy, he added, 'Non-permanently! If they see us coming, I'll try to engage them in a conversation while we converge before fleeing with the Portkey. Understood?'

Pointing his wand at his companions, he swished his wand in a circular motion. _Obscuro!_

He'd worked on this particular spell after his and Tracey's latest exploit. While the spell still somewhat dimmed and narrowed the recipient's field of vision, it didn't completely blind them any longer.

Thankfully, they didn't cry out as they felt his magic wash over them. If there was even the slightest chance of this going wrong, Harry was willing to prepare any insurance imaginable.

With some amusement, he watched Daphne reel in shock, patting at her own hood.

'This spell will obscure your hood. We don't want any fallout for any person should this go wrong.'

'Or any person's inheritance,' added Draco, sounding immensely relieved.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Let's go!'

And off they were. It was at once both easy and treacherously difficult to sneak through the hall. Though the circumstellar disk offered plentiful cover by means of asteroids, dust, and gas clouds, every object to crouch behind was tirelessly on the move.

Scurrying from one asteroid to the next with Daphne as his backup, Harry felt his heart skip a beat when a huge shadow he'd taken for a distant asteroid turned out to be Neptune. To his left, Tracey and Amy were having similar difficulties staying in cover while still proceeding faster than him and Daphne. Leo, by stark contrast, was already approaching the designated spot for their ambush, Draco struggling to keep up with the nimble boy.

Four minutes of tense sneaking later, they finally made it. Harry didn't doubt for a single second that their success was more due to luck, the Auror's apparent distress and exhaustion, as well as the incredibly complex, moving terrain with its innumerable shadows that made spotting incoming attackers practically impossible.

Still, Harry knew this was a gamble. Even one Auror that they didn't manage to instantly overwhelm could, in the worst of cases, prove too much for all six of them – especially as these appeared to be select individuals of Antonius' vanguard. Truthfully, it would have been more sensible to just track the way back towards the room of doors, but – and here Harry reluctantly agreed with Daphne – he couldn't allow Aurors at their backs. If he had a chance to take them out with minimal risk, he would take it. He didn't want to turn tail and run like a beaten dog!

Once he was sure he had everyone's attention, he raised his hand, all fingers outstretched.

Slowly, he bent his thumb.

 _Four_

Daphne was looking at him, resolute and – understandably – anxious.

 _Three_

He gave her a brief smile. 'We'll make it, trust me. Just follow my lead. You disrupt, I'll finish.'

 _Two_

'I trust you, Harry,' she replied, not even a trace of doubt in her voice.

 _One_

'...and you know I'd follow you to the steps of hell...'

He forcefully yanked his hand down. From one second to the next, the planetarium was brightened by three simultaneous jets of light, accompanied by loud yelling and swearing. His heart leapt as he saw Daphne's hex make contact with the hunched figure. The Auror toppled over, and Harry – not missing a beat – jumped out from behind his cover, aiming his wand with the intention to stun.

To his right, a giant ball of sickly green flames shot through the dark, racing towards Tracey's and – more relevantly – Amy's target. The scorching inferno cast fleeting shadows and light on both Harry, his friends, as well as the Aurors.

And just as Harry was about to finish casting his _Stunning Spell_ , the light fell on the man in front of him. But it wasn't a man at all. That wasn't – as such – a problem for Harry, who had trained with witches for the better part of his life. What was a problem, however, was that he knew the witch in front of him – knew her quite well. Too well.

The spell died in Harry's throat as he stared in confusion and disbelief at the familiar heart-shaped face and twinkling eyes. He recognised neither hairstyle nor colour but that was entirely unnecessary. Disregarding the complete and utter chaos surrounding him, he heard his own raspy voice call out.

'...Dora...?'


	45. VoD: Corvus oculum corvi non eruit II

_Canon Harry was unhealthily obsessed with his parentage – a common trait of orphans in literature. Now, many of you found it strange that Harry's apparently found closure concerning the Potters. Isn't it strange that he's totally fine with what happened?_

 _Well..._

 _It would be – if he were totally fine._

Alternative title: _Obsession_

 _Special shout-out to Gabilian's school of legalese for non-native speakers! Thanks, mate._

 **Corvus oculum corvi non eruit (II)**

* * *

One of the other Aurors, a grizzled and wiry man with an eyepatch, was frantically writhing on the floor. His coat, his hair, and even his wand were burning brightly with a strange grass-green fire. Cursing and howling in pain, he desperately tried to suffocate the flames. However, for all his trouble, the voracious fire seemed only to spread further to the naked floor instead of admitting defeat to such mundane matters as lack of oxygen.

From afar, Amy watched her handiwork, mesmerised, her eyes reflecting the green shimmer of the magical fire. Draco and Leo were still battling their assigned Auror. The woman, a Far Eastern witch even more delicate-looking than Tracey, was actually pushing both boys back even though her entire right side, as well as her legs, seemed to be paralysed. Coolly blocking, shielding, redirecting three spells a second, she still had enough time to aim a spell or two of her own for every volley the boys were firing at her, and it took her attackers' combined efforts to deal with each and every one of her answers. Offhandedly, she tapped her right leg with her wand just as another Stunner soared past her. With an almost exasperated look of resignation, she stood up and – to Draco's and Leo's despair and disbelief – switched her wand to her now fully restored right hand.

From one second to the next, every spell of Draco's and Leo's was answered with three or four of hers. The space around the woman's wand seemed to distort and flicker – as if the magic surging from her was too much for the air to take. Just as Draco jumped in front of Leo to shield them both from another _Expelliarmus_ , the floor under their feet was transfigured into hot wax. They both screamed in shock, eyes on the wide-scale transfiguration that was slowly and painfully sucking them in. When they raised their heads again, they beheld a true barrage – a dozen spells or more – heading their way. Valiantly, Leo actually managed to deflect a few more while Draco tried to undo the trap at their feet.

With a hint of a smile, the woman breathed 'Check!' just as the _second_ barrage of spells she had fired at the ceiling during Draco's and Leo's momentary distraction rebounded and hit them both from above. Without even realising what had hit them, they slumped down.

'Make that cross-check!' retorted Tracey, who hadn't remained idle the moment Amy's curse had hit her target. From behind, her hex slammed into the Auror's back.

Harry failed to notice all of that. His gaze was pinned to the last remaining Auror left standing, his eyes flickering from one of Tonks' eyes to the other, unable to comprehend the situation. His own disguise must have been doing its job, however, as Nymphadora – with an angry yell – immediately fired at Harry and Daphne.

She screamed, enraged by the attack on their unprotected flank, hexes and curses streaming from her wand like fireworks.

Daphne just managed to shove the unresponsive Harry out of the way of the spells. 'Get a grip, Harry!' she screamed, returning fire.

'Harry...?' repeated the Auror recruit, momentarily losing concentration herself. Daphne's jinx struck her for the second time, and – yet again – Dora hit the dirt.

Daphne, clipped by one of Dora's _Hurling Hexes_ , was tossed like a ragdoll into one of the many airborne rocks in their backs. She hit the asteroid hard, crying out in pain but still managing to cling to consciousness. 'Finish her!' she yelled.

Harry, who had followed Daphne's trajectory with horror, stared once more at the prone Auror a few dozen yards ahead.

'Do it now!' screamed Daphne, struggling to get back up.

Harry, his wand raised and pointing at the groaning witch on the floor, opened his mouth to utter a spell – but none would come.

'What the hell are you waiting for?!' shouted Daphne once more.

'I...'

He stared at Dora, the witch who had always boasted about her ambition to become an Auror, the witch who had shown him his first few jinxes, the witch who was – just like her mother – one of the most warm-hearted people he knew. He gulped, his wand arm trembling dangerously. As if it had happened just yesterday, he clearly remembered the many stupid jokes Dora had made, how she had introduced herself three times to him, always pretending to be another person. How he, excited about her rare talent and ability, had demanded more and how she had obliged.

It was all coming back to him, a rush of information, a stream of memories, a flood of emotions that – despite the difficulties their first meetings had suffered from due to his trauma – had never in any way been anything but bright and fun and cheerful.

'Harry...?' croaked Dora again, wincing as she rubbed her ribs. 'Is that really you?'

Weakly and without thinking, Harry nodded.

'What's going on here?' Amy, having overcome her fascination with her own curse, had relaxedly walked over. With a look of someone losing interest in a mildly amusing toy, she kicked the still screaming and burning man in the solar plexus, freezing the flames with a wave of her wand. 'Hurry up and finish her.'

'Are you joking?' whispered Harry. 'You know who that is, right?' His mind was numb. _Amy had to have recognised her own first cousin, right?_

'Of course, I do,' she returned apathetically. 'Now finish her!'

'Amy?' breathed Dora stertorously.

Amadina Lestrange didn't answer. Instead, she casually raised her wand. 'I'll do it if you can't.'

'What are you doing here?!' asked Dora, looking from one veiled figure to the next. In the background, and for now unnoticed by the Auror recruit, Tracey was bending over Draco and Leo, trying to wake them again.

Without another word, Amy fired a maliciously aimed _Stunning Spell_ at the overstrained woman on the ground. Relying purely on instinct, Harry shot a _Levitation Charm_ at the racing jet of red light, causing the Stunner to go wide.

'Harry...?' growled Amy.

Harry looked back at her, his mouth again moving furiously without actually producing any sound at all. Eventually, he managed, 'She's family!'

'She's an Auror!'

Harry, brow furrowed, was unable to see any contradiction between those two statements. Grasping for anything to say, his gaze glided from Amy to Dora, who was still breathing rather heavily.

Amadina, apparently taking his silence for acceptance, produced another spell only for yet another charm of Harry to beat if off course.

'No!' he stated firmly.

Amy finally lowered her wand. She glared at him with a mix of disappointment, anger and – to his consternation – pity.

'Harry?' croaked Dora again. 'What the hell are you doing here?! The Ministry is under attack. How did you even get in here?!'

Daphne, dragging one leg behind her, shuffled over, leaning heavily on Harry's shoulder to rest. 'Harry...' she said compassionately. 'This really, really isn't the time.'

'Daphne?' whispered Dora, bewildered and overwhelmed but still recognising the voice now that the girl wasn't screaming her lungs out. 'What the-! What are you guys doing here?!' she repeated, anger slowly but surely drenching her voice.

'That's none of your business, _Auror_!' spat Amy venomously, as if the profession was the vilest curse in humanity's history. To Harry, it sounded like 'betrayer by profession'.

Dora's eyes flickered from Harry to Amy, and – for a second – Harry could see that the word really _did_ seem to have hurt. But nary a second later, the hurt and confused witch was replaced by the bristling Auror yet again.

'Answer me! What the hell are you guys up to?! Do you have any _idea_ how dangerous this place is?!'

'Harry, we can't stay here!' Amy pointed out with a snarl – not totally unreasonable, he had to admit.

But seeing reason and being reasonable are not the same thing, and Harry just couldn't think straight right now. Amy was furious, and he knew why. He'd also gone against the plan. Intellectually, he understood all that. But...this was Dora! They couldn't expect him to... Or could they? Clearly, the situation had changed.

His thoughts felt exactly like another Ministry Portkey – a giant, twisted knot he was unable to make head or tail of. 'What are _you_ doing here, Dora?' he chuntered, desperate for anything to say.

'What?! What does that have to do with anything?! I shouldn't tell you, but I'm on a mission. We're trying to find the evil bastard messing with the Lethifolds. I told you I got promoted into another program.'

'She's with Antonius,' translated Amy with a growl.

'You know him? Oh, right, he's been at Hogwarts, looking into the...looking into...looking...' Her voice trailed away, and she had another look at Harry and his friends, her eyes lingering on Harry's obfuscation spell. Then, she vigorously shook her head.

'You guys need to get out of here! I'm...I'm willing to kick it into the long grass, but I'm deeply disappointed, Harry. What madness possessed you to break into the Ministry?!'

'I'm not leaving.' Despite the burning pain in his chest, those words came easily to Harry. He couldn't leave, not just yet! 'Can't you just...pretend you didn't see us?!'

'Harry, I'm an _Auror_!'

'Yes, you are,' spat Amy with an expression of pure loathing. 'I shouldn't have expected any better, I suppose. Not after that disappointment your mother married. Look how that turned out! Now you're enjoying your little blood traitor lives, denying your own heritage with every breath you take. The writing's been on the wall; you must have sucked treachery with your mother's milk, _Nymphadora_.'

Dora's nostrils flared, and she managed to jump up from her lying position despite her concussion. Harry just managed to race between the maenadic cousins before the situation deteriorated any more. 'ENOUGH!' he yelled, hands outstretched.

'Harry, guys, don't be stupid! Come with me, I'll get you out of here. Boris and especially Fujiwara are extremely reasonable people. I promise they'll hear you out. As long as you tell us what you were doing down here, we'll see what we can do to keep this low profile!'

Amy snorted, folding her arms. Daphne, standing next to her, was shifting uneasily from one foot to the next.

'I'm afraid I can't do that, Dora.'

'What?! Are you insane, Harry?! You're breaking into the Ministry, into the thrice-be-damned Department of Mysteries! You're committing a crime, you kn-'

'We're wasting our time!' drawled Amy. 'Just obliviate her and be done with it!'

The words floated innocently through the gigantic chamber until – with a rush – everyone seemed to be fumbling for or pointing wands. Harry wasn't exactly sure what happened next and in which order, but by the time he'd blinked, someone had shoved him out of the way again – hard. Landing with a muffled yell on the floor, he looked up to see a dozen lights racing over his head. The hall was alight with shouts, yells, and magic.

 _No, no, no, no, no...!_

He rolled over, dodging a stray jinx – whose he couldn't even tell. Coming to his feet, he pointed his wand at the first person available. It was Dora.

Amy was on the floor, nursing her arm. Daphne, her lip bloody and her robes torn, was panting heavily, kneeling but still pointing her wand at Dora. The Auror recruit didn't seem to have suffered any new injuries.

'STOP IT!' screamed Harry, feeling hysteric. 'All of you!'

'I'm not going to let anyone obliviate me!'

'There can't be much left to obliviate anyway, you gormless bitch!' cursed Amy, holding her bleeding arm, her eyes flashing with intense hate.

Dora raised her wand again. Harry, with a rush of panic, felt his own rise. 'DON'T! I mean it, Dora.'

Her eyes flickered for a second towards his wand. She grimaced but didn't desist despite his threat. 'You won't curse me, Harry. I know you won't.'

'Amy is family, too! I won't let you hurt her!'

'She's behind this, isn't she?!' snapped Dora, as if she suddenly understood it all. 'She made you come here! Bellatrix has always been a sick and twisted person. It shouldn't surprise me her daughter turned out the same!'

'Shut your mouth, filthy blood traitor! How dare you – YOU – talk about family?!' screamed Amy in a fit of rage.

'Don't you see, Harry?! It all makes sense! She's rabid! She's an animal! I know – she must have cursed you! You never know. Maybe she's even put you under the _Imperius_? I wouldn't put it past that demented madwoman to teach her children Unforgivables. Lunatics, the lot of them!'

The words hurt. The entire world was a thick mist of confusion. Harry felt muzzy, a bedevilled, plummeting fool in an increasingly blurry world that had lost its ground. He was astonished to realise that he was crying. 'I'm not going to let you curse her, Dora,' he repeated, his voice thin and shivery.

The Auror slowly shook her head, her wand still pointing in Daphne's and Amy's direction. 'You won't attack me, Harry. I know you won't. I watched you grow up – you're like a little brother to me!'

'Amy is my family, too! And Daphne...' he growled dangerously.

'I won't harm Daphne! Why would I? I've got nothing against her – you know it! I...I don't know what Amy did to you two bu-'

'I BROUGHT US DOWN HERE – NOT AMY!'

Harry's desperate scream echoed through the solar system, bouncing off asteroids, dancing around Saturn and Jupiter, caressing even the gigantic star at the centre – and yet the words didn't seem to reach Nymphadora Tonks, who stood right beside him. Wilful, she shook her head. 'I suppose you must be confused, Harry. Maybe you believe that, but it's not true! This isn't you! Harry, you're a lovable bookworm! You practically live in that library of yours! Studying some ancient, obsolete, and obscure spell of old – that's you! Breaking into the Department of Mysteries? That's not you!'

'I won't let you hurt her,' he whispered beseechingly.

'And I know you won't hurt me!' she repeated obstinately.

Daphne looked with fear and confusion from Harry to Tonks. 'Harry...?'

'See, no matter how dumb Harry is, even in his weakness, he has worth. Honestly, if I were standing right there in his place, you'd be a vaguely humanoid pile of agony twitching on the floor,' hissed Amy, who – despite her biting words – looked rather pale now. 'But despite his pitifully blue-eyed grasp of the word family, he's trying his best to hold it all together. You, _Auror Tonks_ , are trash by comparison. Human trash! Auror trash! Ministry ass-licking trash! Deceiving, ungrateful blood traitor tra-'

Dora's wand lit up.

'NO!' howled Harry, his heart hammering, threatening to leap from his chest.

He could see it all happening in slow motion: the wand movement, Dora's angry snarl twisting to mouth the incantation, Amy's leering grin as she took satisfaction from seeing this last, greatest treason. He could still make it. He could still react faster. In her anger, Dora hadn't even cast nonverbally. _Expelliarmus_ would do it, he thought idly just as Dora finished the first syllable. Or even a _Silencio_. Merlin, even a childish _Tripping Jinx_ might throw her off at this point.

He'd learned that one from Dora; it had been his first jinx ever.

It all boiled down to one thing: would he be able to raise his wand against his family in earnest...?

And then the moment passed. Dora's overpowered _Stunning Spell_ hit Amy dead on, slamming her with a brutal thud against the floor. Harry winced, Daphne shrieked, firing a spell of her own at Dora, who casually deflected it back towards the still kneeling second-year, causing her to collapse as well.

Disbelievingly, Harry stared at his wand. It was trembling so hard that any spell of his had an equal chance of hitting either floor or ceiling.

'I knew you'd do the right thing,' murmured Dora softly, gingerly plucking the wand out of what felt like alien rubber appendages instead of arms.

 _The right thing_...

Had he done the right thing? There had been no right thing to choose from! Curse cousin A to save cousin B? _This is madness! This sort of thing just isn't supposed to happen for real!_

Harry scrunched down, his head a turmoil. It was all so messed up!

Dora grasped his shoulder compassionately. 'I'm sorry. I know this must be hard...'

He didn't even flinch when he saw Dora hit the blinking and confused pair of boys further down the hall with another spell. By now, all the fight had left him. He was kneeling on the floor, Daphne's head in his lap, running his thumb over a smudge on her face, hot tears lashing down.

It was all falling apart!

But could he really be blamed? All his life – or at the very least all his life since his rescue from his gilded cage – he'd clung to the conviction that it was his duty to protect his family. He still wasn't entirely convinced that it wouldn't be better to just keep them all at a distance. Better, at least, they were safe. No need to risk them all. If it were up to him, he might still be doing just that.

But Arcturus had disagreed, as had Daphne – loudly. And what had it all amounted to? Here they were, willing to help him out, lying on the floor, out cold.

Ignoring the lump in his throat, he cast a sad look at Dora, who was busying herself with her comrades. He didn't even blame her. No, if this was anyone's fault, it was his – all his. The Ministry, London, the Lethifolds...

It was all his fault, would always be his fault. And it hurt. Wiping away a few of his own tears that were trickling down Daphne's face, he wondered if it wouldn't be better to not feel this pain, never feel it again. Guilt hurt. It hurt like a constant knife in his flesh that he couldn't rid himself of. Sniffing, he looked upon his unconscious cousin. Maybe Aenor had the right of it after all. _But why stop with that one incident...?_

'Harry? Where's your last friend? Where's the one who attacked Fujiwara from behind?'

Harry didn't react.

'Harry?! I know there was another one. Don't make this harder on all of us!'

With a start, Harry looked up, confused. 'What?' he cawed.

'Where's the last of your little gang?' she demanded, staring into the dark.

Harry shrugged, unconcerned.

Dora sighed, walking towards him with a sad smile. 'Harry... I know you don't want to betray anyone, but don't you think this is futile? No matter how good you are, you're second years...'

'I can't tell you either way,' he mumbled with a throaty voice. Seeing her eyes narrow, he added, 'I'm not sure what she's up to.'

'Another she, huh? Look, it really isn't my business to tell you what you can and what you can't do, but did you see that curse Amy used on my colleague? If he wasn't such a tough son of a gun, he might have kicked the bucket! And the scars...'

Harry gave yet another shrug. Truthfully, while he was very much in agreement with Dora that Amy had gone overboard yet again, he couldn't bring himself to care about some stupid Auror. He was alive, wasn't he?

'I don't want to hurt your friends, Harry!' pleaded Dora. 'Please, just tell her to come out, and we can get this over with.'

Harry shook his head. 'She can look after herself, and I don't doubt her eyesight is a lot better than yours in the dark. Besides, she knows where the both of us are, and she can hear us talking. What makes you so sure you'll find her first?' With a humourless grin, he added, 'There's almost unlimited cover to lurk behind.'

'If you're resisting...' she began only for Harry to shake his head once more.

'No. You're right, Dora,' he said bitterly. 'I'd never be able to attack you for real. And Amy was right, too – in a way. You believe in your duty as an Auror.'

She grimaced, her watchful eyes on the lookout for any movement in the slowly approaching cluster of space-rocks. 'You _did_ break into the Ministry, Harry,' she muttered reproachfully.

'I'm not denying it. Do what you must – as shall I.'

'Harry...?' she growled angrily. 'What are you planning?!'

'Nothing,' he spat earnestly, almost retching from the words. 'I shall do nothing – however this will play out.' In a softer voice, he added, 'It hurt, you know, watching you brutalise Amy.'

'She would've done a lot worse to me!' protested Dora.

'I don't doubt that,' agreed Harry in a calm fashion, wiping his eyes. 'But that's not the point I was trying to make. I suppose I've always entertained thoughts of being all-responsible for my family – until you so harshly disabused me of that notion, of course.'

There was no accusation in his voice. There was only guilt, regret, and pain. 'It seems,' he explained, eyes misty, 'when my family fights amongst itself, I might not be able to do anything about it.'

'I'm your cousin,' disagreed Dora. 'I'm sorry about Daphne, I really am. I'm even...sorry how it turned out with Amy, but _I'm_ your cousin, Harry. Not that other girl you dragged along!'

Harry shook his head just as he saw another figure sneak a glance from behind her cover. _You're out of luck..._

He looked at her, smiling apologetically. 'I'm sorry, too.' Her lively eyes seemed confused – and then her body gave a jerk, collapsing silently at his feet.

'Why is it that I have to put out so many people from behind whenever I'm with you...?' grumbled Tracey, lowering her wand.

'Maybe because you're actually smart? Unlike me, it seems...'

'No arguing there!' she returned with a scoff. But it didn't seem very scathing. 'I was half convinced you'd warn her any second.'

Harry averted his eyes. 'I couldn't have done that any more than I would have been able to stop Dora from beating Amy...'

'...Really?' she demanded suspiciously.

'Really.'

For a few seconds, Tracey mulled over his words, her brow furiously wrinkled. In the end, she squatted next to Daphne, avoiding his eyes with the same awkwardness he felt. 'Will she be okay?'

Harry smiled a bit at her words, fondly remembering Daphne asking him the very same question. 'She'll be fine,' he echoed the words from his memory. 'I don't know what hex that was she slung at Dora, but I can't find anything wrong with her. She'll pull through. She's the toughest person I know.'

'She's tenacious,' agreed Tracey with a smile.

'You have no idea...'

He left Tracey to care for her best friend. They couldn't stay here. For now, he needed to take control of the situation again. Leo and Draco had, by his estimate, both been hit by a few Stunners. Harry was grateful both female Aurors had exercised that much restraint. They wouldn't be able to fight again in a while – at least not at their best capacity. They weren't, however, what worried him in any case.

Amy, looking unaccustomedly pale, had a deep gash on her arm, a bruise on the back of her head that was painful to look at, and several abrasions that would hinder her movement. At least her breathing was even.

Harry felt drained – even though he was arguably the only one out of their group who hadn't done any fighting at all. But his stay in the infirmary had left him weakened, and this entire mess with his cousins had taken its toll.

But he couldn't allow himself to rest just yet. Gritting his teeth to keep concentrating, he gently rolled up Amy's sleeve. Expressionlessly, he stared at the cut that had managed to damage her radial bone. As gently as he could, he cleaned the wound.

'Harry...?' Amadina uttered weakly when he was finally finishing dressing her wound.

He nodded, not daring to say a single thing.

'You're such a blockhead.'

'I'm sorry...'

'Don't apologise! You did what you thought was right, didn't you? But what about her? Did my valiant sacrifice inspire you to take revenge for me?'

Harry snorted. Was Amy trying to make him feel better or taking the mickey? He could never be quite sure with her... 'No, Tracey put her down from behind.'

'Ah, yes – the Slytherin Special.' She gave a sharp laugh – at least until she winced. Slowly, she ran her hand over the back of her head.

'You fell,' he explained, conscience-stricken. 'I'm sorry, but I can't do anything about your concussion right here...'

Amy shrugged, and – with some cussing and support – managed to stand, nodding grimly. Patting her on the back with one last uncertain smile, he walked over to the two other Aurors. The man had been rudimentarily bandaged by Dora, but he was still completely out of it. The woman, on the other hand...

'What are you going to do to us?' she asked softly, her dark eyes fearless and stoic.

She couldn't move, Harry realised. With a frown, he bent over to have a closer look.

'You needn't concern yourself with me,' she said with the hint of a smile. 'Your associate got me with a hex that interferes with my nervous system, as I told your cousin already, Harry James Black. What are you going to do to us?'

It was remarkable how calm the woman was. She just lay there, staring at him through her slanted, obsidian eyes, awaiting his answer with all the world's dignity. He had never quite seen a person remain so calm when so utterly at an enemy's mercy. It was fantastically quixotic.

Their eyes met. 'Thanks for only stunning my friends,' he said. 'I know you could've done a lot worse.'

'I don't stand to gain anything by humbling rebellious school children,' she replied evenly.

'No... I suppose you don't.' Harry hesitated. Then, coming to a decision, he said, 'Dora was never any good with delicate spells. I'll have a look at your comrade to see if his skin can be saved.'

'...What is it that you want?'

'Ms Fujiwara, was it?'

The woman didn't respond.

'Dora has never been the subtlest person either,' said Harry with a bitter fondness that stung.

'I suppose that's true,' replied the Auror with a sigh.

'I need information, and you're going to give it to me.'

'Am I...?'

'Ms Fujiwara, I want to know which room the Lethifolds are coming from.' Noting her blank expression, he impatiently waved his hand. 'I know! Please spare us both the indignity.'

'What do you want with them?'

'I want to shut the connection. That's all. I'll finish this, and then we leave. You have my word.'

'The word of a boy who invaded the Ministry and ambushed a group of wounded Aurors?'

Harry shook his head. 'The word of a boy trying to desperately fix what he messed up.'

She stared at him, unblinking. 'You did not need to tell me that.'

'True, but I'm going to obliviate you in any case.'

'You just want to convince me?'

'If you've heard of my family at all, you'll know that we always try honesty first. So let me be honest, Ms Fujiwara; I'm not an accomplished caster of the Obliviation Charm. I can either remove your last few hours or days or...quite a bit more.'

She looked away. 'Ah, yes. My captain warned us about that. I suppose that was you in London?'

He nodded. 'Tell me what I need to know, and I promise I'll only remove approximately three days of your memories – just to be sure.'

'How chivalrous,' she remarked dryly. 'How will this information benefit you anyway? I'm sure you've noticed my colleagues are currently fighting another intruder – one rather more intimidating than a band of unruly adolescents. What makes you so sure you can get past that person? It borders on a miracle that we're currently having this conversation – the attacker was devastating the room two doors further down.'

'Nothing,' he answered immediately. 'I'm aware we would never have been able to overwhelm you three in a fair fight. Even with Dora being a recruit...'

'Are you sure you can stop them coming back?'

'No.'

Her eyes looked him up and down. 'You really don't like lying, do you?'

'It's nothing _gallant_ , I assure you,' said Harry with a smirk. 'I'm just convinced that I'll be able to get what I want by playing nice. You're not the type of person to give in to more primitive approaches.'

Another long sigh escaped her lips. 'You're so unlike your cousin. What you seek is in the room four doors to the right from this one; it's the Death Chamber. Your Unspeakables research magic and its connection to death in that hall, though even we're not entirely sure about their studies. Our Colonel and a few specialists theorised that the arch at the centre might be a gateway of some sort.'

'Thank you.'

'If you are indeed grateful, show my colleagues the same kind of mercy I showed yours.' She closed her eyes. 'Do it, then! Until our next first meeting.'

Harry brought his wand to her temple, unable to prevent himself from feeling admiration for the woman at his feet. ' _Obliviate!_ '

True to his word, he briefly inspected the man's burns. With a sigh, he cast what few charms he knew that might help him before wiping his recent memories.

Leo and Draco had, by now, got to their feet again, wobbling dangerously but conscious at last. His friends had gathered around Daphne, who was still out of it, and Dora, who lay next to her.

'What are you going to do about this one?' said Amy, nudging Dora with her foot. 'I think we've firmly established by now that you'll be unable to wipe her memory.'

Harry tried to think of a solution, his brow furiously wrinkled. Just when he was about to open his mouth, Tracey interrupted him, 'No, we can't just leave her be! Snap out of it, Harry!'

'But-'

'I won't allow it!' Amy had crossed her arms. 'I respect you, Harry, though Merlin knows I don't exactly know why right now. But I won't allow you to endanger your entire family because of your blasted indecisiveness.'

'How about we, you know, take her back with us? Can't we stuff her in Daphne's trunk or something?' proposed Leo, still looking dizzy.

'But they'll notice we took Tonks specifically!' protested Tracey. 'Those guys aren't idiots! They'll realise there must be a connection!'

'Man, Harry,' said Draco, looking solemn, 'are you sure you can't just...?'

'No!'

'But she won't even be harmed...! She won't even know you did something to her!' he argued.

Harry shook his head. 'I'll know.'

Amy grumbled angrily, gingerly running her hand over the back of her head. 'Whatever. Harry, you get Daphne's trunk. I expect you're about the only person she had exempted from any protection it has.'

Harry glanced at Tracey.

'I'm not sure if her mother included me, but I'm damn well sure she included _you_. Just do it, Harry!'

'Okay, okay...' Flicking his wand, he summoned Daphne's trunk from within her robes, and a few minutes later, they'd gently stored Dora's currently lifeless body within. Harry had made sure she wouldn't be wanting for air and Amy that she wouldn't get away. Without another word, Harry pocketed the trunk.

'It's been really quiet for a while, hasn't it?' remarked Leo.

'Do you guys think the fight is still going on?' asked Tracey nervously.

'I hope it is!' Amy, thoroughly battered as she was, seemed to be itching for a fight – same as ever.

'It doesn't matter if it is – at least not to you guys. I'm sending you home,' declared Harry firmly.

'What?!'

'Are you sure about that, Harry?'

'Don't be a freaking idiot!'

'Thank Merlin!'

Harry raised his hands, looking at his three rebellious and one grateful co-conspirators. 'Look, Daphne is wounded, and I don't know what hit her. But we can't just leave her here!' He shook his head. 'I won't leave her here. Draco, Leo, Amy, you guys aren't in any state to fight right now.'

'You don't need to convince me, ma-'

'I can still fight!' hissed Amy, gripping his arm tightly.

'Leaving you here alone seems wrong,' agreed her brother. 'We should all see this through together!'

'How will you even get back?' asked Tracey. 'We only have that one Portkey!'

'I'll find a way...'

'You really _are_ a blockhead. But you know what? Joke's on you; you can't order me to leave! I don't give a rat's ass!' Amy glowered at him, crossing her arms in challenge. 'I won't run like a frightened Hufflepuff just because of a bruise and that little scratch!'

'Your wand arm is useless, and I know you're barely standing straight!'

'So what?! I'll fight with my left! I'll bite those Aurors if it comes down to it!'

'I'm not questioning your grit-'

'Oh, but I'm questioning yours!' she snapped, turning away.

Harry's eyes darted towards her brother, but Leo only shrugged, mindlessly wiping a bit of dust from his robes, leaning heavily on his sister. 'No, Harry. I admit it doesn't seem clever to go on, but – if I'm being honest – you haven't exactly proven yourself to be clear-headed tonight. I'm not gonna lie; I still see everything at least double, and I can't hear anything in my left ear. But leaving you alone seems foolish to the point of idiocy.'

Harry grumbled, running his hand through his hair in distress. That even Leo was disagreeing was a bad sign. 'Listen, do we have any other relations that recently started becoming Aurors?' he demanded sarcastically. 'You guys don't need to tell me that I messed up; I know that! But it's different with others! You all should know best that my family comes first for me! Do you really think I'll throw down my wand or freeze up when the next random Auror appears?!'

Leo frowned. 'I didn't mean to question y-'

'Did Rodolphus or Bella recently apply for Auror training, Leo?' he hissed. He could hear Amy's snort even though she was still looking away. 'Or your parents, Draco?!'

'Leave me out of this!'

'Or has your mother – perchance – recently transferred departments, Tracey?'

'Er, no?'

'Seems to me, the chances of me running into another person I know aren't exactly astronomical! I know I messed up, and I'm sorry! But will you please be reasonable? I can't take you with me when you're dazed like that!' Before Leo could raise his voice, he added, 'And hiding here is out of the questions with Aurors potentially coming from both sides!'

Disgruntled, Harry glared at them reproachfully, slightly out of breath from his tirade.

'Fine! But if you die down here, I'll find some way to make you come back. And then I'll murder you again, Harry!' growled Amy.

He understood that to mean 'be careful'. The Lestranges always had a way with words.

Draco seemed to reach the same conclusion. 'You don't need to be so mean. We know you care!'

She shrugged, turning around just enough for them to see her rolling her eyes. 'Whatever. I'll still murder you if you die!'

Harry watched them gather around Daphne. Leo, he noticed, was still looking rather unconvinced. Tracey and Amy seemed to be having a heated discussion held in whispers, too.

'Wait for me in Hogsmeade. We'll walk back together.'

'Even the Shrieking Shack would be better than this madhouse,' grumbled Draco.

'Will you finally shut it?!' hissed Amy.

Draco's mouth snapped shut like a spring.

With exaggerated care, Harry placed the Portkey in Leo's hands. When all of them had shuffled closer to place a finger on it (and had Daphne do the same), he tapped the Portkey with his wand.

'Be careful, Harry,' said Leo as the cube began to shimmer again.

'I will.'

A bright flash – and gone they were. _One problem less._ If Harry was being honest with himself, he was particularly glad to have Daphne and Draco out of here – if for slightly different reasons. Now, he would be able to hopefully fix this mess and sneak out. Bringing Daphne along, specifically, had been an incredible risk in the current political situation. But how was he supposed to say no to her...? Now, there was just one last issue remaining.

'Tracey...?' he growled angrily.

The little witch stood exactly where the rest of his comrades had left the Ministry's premises just a moment ago, impenitent, brazen, and grinning. 'Oops!' she said, again mimicking his tone from his earlier misstep with the Portkey. 'My finger must have slipped.'

'What the hell?! What are you doing?! Have you lost your mind?'

'Well,' she replied calmly, 'I see your point. Getting the siblings, Daphne and – Morgana! – Draco out of here was smart. But I'm not wounded! And,' she continued, taking a few steps as if the discussion had already been done, 'while I'm sure my mother will scream at me for days if I get found down here, I'm even more convinced that she'll never forgive me if I leave you alone with this mess. Besides, we started this together, didn't we? You always pretend that it's all your fault, but the idea with the runes was mine. Mine! I need to do this just as much as you, and you don't have the right to tell me otherwise!'

Harry groaned, massaging his temple. 'Why are all the girls I know so obstinate?'

She smiled brightly. 'Because you're a wimp! We're here to tip the scales and save the day!'

'Let's...let's just get on with it. We've wasted so much time here already...'

'We?! Wasn't it you who decided to heal the Aurors?'

'Never mind that – come on!'

 _~BLVoD~_

' _Homenum Revelio!_ '

The wand jerked in their direction for a second, but nothing else happened.

'It's clear, come on!' Harry whispered. He flicked his wand at the door to mark it temporarily and was about to step out when Tracey grabbed his robes to hold him back.

'Wait! Do you hear that?'

'Hear what?'

For a few seconds, he stood completely still, concentrating hard. There was...something.

'Some sort of...sizzling?' he surmised.

'Yeah. Let's be careful.'

Sneaking around the corner, they found the Room of Doors as empty as they had left it. In fact, the room was now – suspiciously – even emptier than before.

'Where's the Auror Daphne took down?' asked Tracey, voicing his exact thoughts.

'I don't know...'

Harry looked around. There was no sign of another battle. The only damage to the floor was exactly where his cousin's curse had blasted the man into the room. Then, his eyes fell on one of the doors.

'What in Merlin's...'

Eyes widening, he took a few paces towards the slowly swelling sound of crackling. One of the doors appeared...off. A vague but urgent sense of danger radiated from it like heat – very much like heat! Now that he stood closer, Harry could make out a very well-hidden symbol etched into the door. It was a bird in flight, struck through.

'What is it?' demanded Tracey, refusing to take a step further. 'It feels...dangerous!'

'There's a curse on that door. And not just any old curse,' said Harry, lowering his eyes to the floor. He took one last step forward. To his surprise, he heard a very soft crunching under his soles. A thin film of black dust covered the dark marble – almost invisible in the twilight of the room.

'Ash...' he muttered. 'I have no way of knowing for sure, but I'd bet anything that's the exit.'

'What makes you say so?' asked Tracey, taking two very reluctant steps towards him.

'I believe,' he said expressionlessly, gesturing towards the floor, 'I've found our missing Auror.'

Tracey blanched. 'So, er, no going back that way?'

He shook his head. 'No. I'm sure you can feel it too, right?'

She nodded fervently.

'This is among the worst kinds of curses I've ever felt...' He continued, backing off. 'And I've got no clue whatsoever what it is. The way is barred.'

'Doesn't matter anyway, I suppose,' she said. 'We've still got your Curtains of Doom to worry about.'

Harry turned around and rolled his eyes at the petite witch. 'Doesn't that just express the urgency and seriousness of our situation...?'

Wand held tightly, he marched over to the entrance four doors to the left whence they came.

'We'll have a careful look inside. Should we meet Aurors or this mysterious attacker, we'll try conversing first. If it becomes apparent that talking will get us nowhere, we'll strike out whenever an opportunity presents itself. Understood?'

'Okay,' she said, nodding jerkily. 'And what if it comes to open battle...?'

'I'm better at defending, so I'll try to cover the both of us. You do whatever you think you can do. That hex you used on the woman would be a good start. Dora seemed unable to dispel it. What was that, by the way?' he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

'Oh! Well, that's, er, well,' she mumbled, avoiding his eyes, 'well, it's a hex to, er, paralyse muscles...and such. Mum taught it to me for if I ever had a problem with...you know...someone being...forward.'

Harry frowned. 'Did anyone try to coerce y-?'

'What?! No! Sweet Morgana, no more talking about this, okay? My mother's paranoid, that's all. It's a family trait, I'm told.'

Harry snorted. 'Anyway, you attack, I cover. Alright?'

'Alright.'

He was just about to charm the door open when Tracey called out to him again. 'Harry...?'

'What is it now?'

'I...need to apologise.'

He just looked at her, waiting for comprehension to dawn.

'I, you know,' she continued, fiddling with her fingers, 'for my behaviour earlier this year. It's just...I never expected us to have any contact at all! Not like this! It's...awkward.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'We're not going to die, you know. We can talk about that later!'

'I know,' she said, speaking fast. 'It's just... I want it out of the way. This doesn't seem to be the most sensible thing to do, and it's weighing me down!'

Harry lowered his wand. 'I never expected it to turn out like this either. Daphne must have been born under some kind of miracle star.'

'Got that right!' agreed Tracey with a grin.

'But for all it's worth – I'm glad you're here in the open with me,' he said with a smile.

Her narrow brow furrowed in confusion as if she was unable to understand his words. 'Are you lying to me to make me feel better?' she asked suspiciously.

'No. You've saved my skin a few times this year alone, remember?'

'Anyone with half a goblet full of common sense could've done that,' she grumbled, her expression unreadable.

'Well, I'm glad it wasn't just anyone, then.'

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. 'You're still getting better with that whole talking to girls thing!'

'Yes, apologies for not remaining a stuttering wreck of nerves all the time.'

'You've got to admit it was kind of funny how you'd always hide in the deepest corner of your library whenever someone came around for a visit!'

'For you maybe...'

Tracey laughed, looking a great deal less tense. Harry stood there, weathering her amusement. It really was a small price to pay to get her to focus.

'Ready?' he asked again when he figured that she'd enjoyed herself long enough at his expense.

She nodded, still grinning that blithe grin of hers. 'Ready!'

Harry raised his wand.

 _~BLVoD~_

Teasingly slow, the marble passage swung open, the rocky portal grinding over the stone, giving way to a chamber that eerily resembled the lower courtrooms Harry had seen in Arcturus' memories. Descending rows of ancient, worn benches of stone surrounded a central pit, not unlike ancient classical architecture. In its focal point stood a crumbling, immemorial arch of some inconspicuous stone, hung with a long, dark piece of cloth.

The air was dry and mouldy, scratching Harry's throat. The entire chamber appeared to be millennia-old, untouched – perhaps untouchable. Stone, air, even light – all of it projected stillness.

And yet, the curtain fluttered ever so slightly in the non-existent breeze.

It was fascinating.

A shiver ran down his spine, and Harry shook his head to shake off the daze. 'No signs of any battle,' he whispered. 'There's some amount of cover, but I can't make anything out. You?'

'No. It doesn't look like anyone's been here for...centuries!'

They peered into the gloom, waiting for unspeakable horrors, shades, or men to lunge at them. But there was nothing – only the soundless fluttering, the eerily hypnotising movement of the entrancing rag that so gently caressed the auld arch. It was alien but, for some reason, also alluring. It made Harry want to feel the cloth run through his hands, stroke the ancient passage, feel the age of time with his own-

'Harry?' Tracey had grabbed the sleeve of his left arm.

Confused, Harry noticed that he'd stood up and begun walking down the steps. Again, there was that feeling of ice sliding down his spine. His eyes widened. 'Merlin, that thing is dangerous,' he breathed.

Tracey let go, looking at the dais with twinkling eyes. 'It's kind of beautiful though, isn't it...?'

 _Damn it!_ Harry shook her until Tracey too regained her senses.

'What the hell is that thing?!' demanded Tracey in a shriek, looking anywhere but at the centre of the pit.

Harry didn't answer. He was busy rummaging in Daphne's trunk, feeling only slightly guilty. Trying to avoid any clothing or other items of personal nature, he eventually produced two silver knives. _Good thing she has such excessive stock of anything to do with Potions..._

Taking a sharp breath, he grabbed the blade of the knife with his left hand – and squeezed. He suppressed a wince as he felt the edge dig deep into his flesh. Ignoring the blood flowing freely from his hand, he cast another cautious look at the arch in the centre.

It was still there – the haunting sense of forced curiosity. But, with the pain, it was more like whispers in the back of his head; he heard them, but the cry of his pain dulled their demands.

'Here,' he said, handing Tracey the other knife. She looked at him in question until she noticed the second one in his left hand. All the world could have spotted her reluctance, but she didn't complain as she tightly gripped the knife with her right – and that's what he liked about any of his friends; despite how girly Daphne and Tracey could be at times, they weren't squeamish.

'Better?' he asked.

She nodded, gritting her teeth, but looking at the centre of the room without any signs of befuddlement. 'Let's get this over with, please.'

Leaving a trail of drops of blood in their wake, they cautiously approached the dais. The closer they got, the more tightly Harry gripped the blade until – when they finally stood in its commanding shadow – he could feel the blade chip away at his bone. But no amount of agony could rid himself of the whispering.

Tracey appeared to have tears in her eyes, and he had a very good guess why. 'Don't let up! It'll bleed more if you do,' he managed to utter, his voice quivering slightly.

His companion was pressing her lips shut as if trying to prevent herself from crying out, yet she still managed a jerky little nod.

Inch by inch, his hand slowly approached the wafting curtain.

 _'…'_

The murmuring, only static and indistinguishable noise before, seemed to condense, intensify.

 _'… – …'_

Every half inch he pressed forward felt like a hundredweight of cold pressure resisting him. In a mundane sense, it was easy, so very easy, to push forward, but something in his subconsciousness was fighting him with tooth and nail.

 _::: – – – :::_

'What are you doing?!'

Cold sweat running down his neck, he pressed forward as strongly as he dared. He needed to know for sure! Then, the moment came; any more, even the slightest bit more and he'd touch the veil, and Harry, despite the pain and rattling silence in his mind, had very reasonable reservations about that. With a grimace, he readied himself to push further.

 _:::-le Thoughtling!:::_

A thousand icicles pierced his spine – at least that's what Harry dreaded for a second. He yelped, jumping back several feet, drawing short and desperate breaths.

'Morgana, what's going on?!' Tracey, who had jumped in surprise at his sudden motion, ran over, supporting him. Harry's legs felt like matchsticks. 'You're as white as snow!' she added.

'It's them!' he wheezed. 'It's the arch, alright. We need to hurry!'

'How do you know for sure?' demanded Tracey. Unable to support his entire weight any more, she carefully helped him sit.

'The voices...'

Tracey froze, her eyes widening in horror. 'You hear them, too?!' Her voice was but an arid breeze in the dead air.

Harry, still panting and feeling as if he'd gone through a week of flu, nodded.

Tracey stared at him, her expression frozen in fear and disbelief. 'They speak to me,' she confessed. 'They mock me! Taunt me for my weakness. They haunt my dreams! I...I didn't want to say anything because I _knew_ I was sleeping, but it all seemed so real...'

'It _was_ real. You're...uniquely vulnerable to them. In the same way that we're singularly safe from them – in a way.'

Tracey gaped at him, unable to comprehend his babbling. 'What do we need to do?! The runes didn't work last time!'

His vision was spinning, but Harry – in a fleeting moment of clarity – understood why his previous attempt had been lacking. 'Because...because we neither chose the right spot – nor ''ink''.'

'Ink? What does ink have to do with anything?! Harry, are you feeling alright? Daphne should have a Pepper-Up in that trunk of hers...'

'Listen!' he said, slowly calming down again. 'Listen, Tracey! The spell, the original spell I used to call them forth, a required component of the spell was blood. I always focused entirely on the blood of Lethifolds, believing the reason for the rarity of the spell to lie in the sparsity of the resource! Lethifold blood is a treasure beyond Galleons! I've never heard of it being for sale at all!'

'How did you get it, then?!'

He was about to steer away from the question, but then he looked into her eyes again. _Damn her!_ 'The Blacks, in times long past, managed to capture one, or acquire a captured specimen – it matters little.'

With a sharp intake of breath, Tracey asked in a high pitch voice, 'You've got a live subject lurking under your floor – in Wales?!'

'It's...difficult to explain, but it's long since expired. Listen, that's not important right now! What's important is that one of the Blacks of that time managed to study the creature for a time. He sought a way to communicate with it, harness it.'

Tracey, who had been in the process of raising her voice in outrage again, stopped moving.

'As you might surmise, he succeeded – but not without cost.'

'At what cost?'

'The spell I used is the only barely functioning result of his studies...'

'What cost?!' insisted Tracey again.

Harry stared at his left hand, where the blade was still cutting painfully into flesh and bone.

'Harry, what cost?!' repeated Tracey shrilly.

'…He had to taint his own blood with the essence of his subject…'

Tracey, following his gaze, stared at his wounded left hand with open revulsion.

'It could've gone a lot worse,' added Harry in a haste. 'Thankfully, it didn't have any real side effects.'

'...except the whole speaking with and being haunted by eldritch horrors thing,' remarked Tracey dryly.

'Yes, well, alright there's that. They...seem to recognise true witches and wizards of Black descent as, well, inferior...relatives? If I'm being honest, he, er, died soon after some other tests, leaving more questions than results behind, and the family decided to shelve that research...'

'Oh, really,' she said with a sarcasm as biting as the knife hurting his palm. 'Shelved it for good, did they?'

'Well, you know the Blacks don't outright _forbid_ the application of any magic – it's more of a...suggestion, really. And I thought reading up on it couldn't hurt, and you know...well...' his babbling trailed away feebly, quailing under her judging glare.

Her eyes were almost burning. 'We'll _talk_ about that later,' she hissed, and Harry understood that to be equal parts promise and threat.

'R-right, er, as I was saying, the original set of runes I wrote were only a supplementary addition to the spell. The root of the problem is the spell itself! The spell is more of a summoning; don't ask me how it works! The inventor grew a bit...unstable during his later years, and his instructions are a bit, well, insane.'

'Pray tell!'

'Yes, well,' he continued, trying to ignore her scowl, 'part of the spell requires the caster to mix Lethifold blood and the blood of the caster. Don't you see? It'll only ever work for a Black because of the connection Lethifolds share with us! They must have engaged in a contract with the Lethifold! Grandfather all but admitted it to me last year! He said 'the magic of our family and not our blood is the deciding factor'! Magic – not blood! That's why Daphne or Draco, both descendants of Blacks, wouldn't fit! They're not recognised by our family's magic!'

'And how will that help us?'

'Well, if the blood of a recognised family member can summon them...'

If Tracey had been, due to shock and the still open wound in her palm, pale before, her skin became positively ghostly at his allusion. 'Blood?! You want us to write another set of runes in blood on the arch?! Harry, are you _insane_?'

'Do you have a better idea?! If it's a contract, the method you discovered will void the contract.'

'But only temporarily! Blood won't last forever!'

'I can make it last. I...I think I can ward the arch to keep anyone from tampering with it, too.'

'We don't know the phrasing of the contract. Did you forget already? We can only annul the contract if we know the exact runes they used!'

Harry shook his head. 'We'll keep things vague. We'll pick the least amount of logograms possible and shoot for broader meaning. All contracts are agreements, so we should probably go for Liberty. And we should probably add another rune to convey our understanding to ward off further incursions. Something like that.'

'Harry, that's insane! You're insane! You realise how much guesswork that is? What if you're wrong?! Haven't you heard the stories of Herpo? He used blood for ink, too...'

'I'm not trying to _do_ anything! I'm trying to undo something I wreaked in the first place! And what could happen in the worst of cases?! That Lethifolds will unendingly invade Britain, following the lure of my blood? Guess what – that's happening already!'

They glowered at one another. Harry felt himself grip the blade in his palm harder than ever.

'Listen, I know I'm taking a lot of risks here. But I'll finish this! I brought this upon us, and I'll see it through – no matter the cost!'

'Have you lost your mind?! Arcturus wouldn't ever want you to take such a risk! Screw your family's stupid principles! You're his grandson, for Merlin's sake!'

'Grandfather isn't here!' yelled Harry, finally losing his cool. 'This is _my_ mess, _my_ responsibility. And I intend to fix this!'

Tracey jumped, taken aback by his uproar.

Trying to calm his frantically beating heart, Harry took a step forward. 'The Blacks meddled with things that would better have been left untouched, and I made it worse! You were right; I was a fool. I'll never be able to live with myself if I don't fix this. I can't go back home and ask Grandfather for help, Tracey – I can't! I...it would go against everything I believe in...'

Her golden gaze flickered between his eyes, searching. Then, she groaned, scratching her head in frustration. 'You're infuriating! Fine, whatever! I said I'd help. So, what next?'

His heart skipped a beat. 'Y-you still want to help? Knowing what I'm about to do?'

'I _said_ I'd help, and I meant it. Besides, you can't very well write two runes with your left hand in that state, can you? We probably should go about it just like we did in your mansion. The spell might rebound if we don't.'

'I...Thank you, Tracey.'

She nodded grimly. 'So what runes? You proposed Liberty, and I agree; it might oppose either Contract or even...Partnership. Urgh! If you want something to ward them off, we might as well pick Eihwaz.'

Harry felt himself nod. 'Hold out your hand.'

She looked at him, bewildered. 'W-what? You mean – right now? Shouldn't we think this thr-'

'Your reasoning is solid, and I agree. Also, we're working within a time frame! We're doing it right now! Give me your hand!'

'Alright, alright...'

Slowly, she reached out with her uninjured left hand. Harry, making sure to turn his back on the dais, let go of the knife and joined hands with her.

'But I-' she began to insist.

'No! It's my blood that started this. I think it should be mine and mine alone that finishes it. I'll write Defence, you go for Liberty. Older Futhark, same script as before – and no squiggles! Seven runes on each side. You on the left, me on the right. Alright?'

She still seemed upset, but she gently applied just enough pressure to his hand for him to recognise the timidest of squeezes. He suppressed a wince.

Letting go, he rubbed his right forefinger in his still freely flowing blood.

'One,' she began.

'Two,' he joined in. Out of the corner of his eyes, he ascertained that her expression had settled into her familiar state of deep concentration.

'Three,' they exclaimed in unison.

Two fingers, in perfect synchronisation, touched the stone arch, drawing two runes in blood on the weathered piece of rock. The stone felt cold and dry, eagerly sucking in the generous amount of blood Harry had smeared on his finger.

From one second to the next, the fluttering of the veil increased a hundredfold as if a sudden, ethereous gust was rousing the stale air.

 _'…'_

 _The whispering_ , thought Harry, gritting his teeth. 'Keep going!' he shouted. 'We finish this – no matter what!'

'You don't need to tell me!'

 _:::...ittle Thought...:::_

 _Come on, come on, come on!_ Harry thought desperately, his fingers continuing their path in the only speed Tracey and him had ever trained in.

 _:::...t grown tired of us?:::_

 _:::But it was it which called us?!:::_

 _:::CALLED US!:::_

'Shut up!' yelled Harry.

 _:::The blood calls::::::_

 _:::The blood:::_

 _:::It calls!:::_

 _:::BLOOD WILL OUT!:::_

'Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!' he screamed at the top of his lungs, trying to drown out the increasingly numerous voices at the edge of perception. The whispering was like the tide; every surge a soft, subtle noise of no consequence, but the entirety of it was an unparalleled force that brooked no defiance.

'Harry?'

 _:::We helped it:::_

 _:::Helped Little Thoughtling?!:::_

 _:::We helped it flee the snacks!:::_

 _:::Ungrateful Little Thoughtling!:::_

 _:::It flew from snacks?!:::_

 _:::Denied us blood!:::_

 _:::SWEET, SWEET BLOOD!:::_

 _:::Oh, so very sweet!:::_

Harry's vision was dimming. His right arm was still moving, barely, but he was screaming with all his might to drown the voices that chipped at his mind like claws on a blackboard.

 _:::Why is it resisting?!:::_

 _:::It's resisting us?:::_

 _:::It's resisting itself!:::_

 _:::Whyever resist?!:::_

Suddenly, the noises died down as if he'd reached the eye of the hurricane. In the silence, there was only one lone whisper.

 _:::But isn't Little Thoughtling one of us now?:::_

In the silence, the clinking of silver hitting stone could be heard. Then, the sound rose, like the raging flood that swallowed dykes, men, and islands whole.

 _::: **US!** :::_

They were everywhere, permeating Harry's entire being. No other coherent thought except fear was allowed to exist. It shattered him, rolled over any defences he had like a tsunami over sand-castles. Through the mist, he was vaguely aware of Tracey's delicate, injured right hand gripping his injured left – wound on wound. It hurt and yet – at the same time – it didn't hurt at all.

The tide of terror was still rampaging through his mind and bones, but – through the haze – he could still make out his right hand. And even though his heart hammered in his chest, threatening to crack ribs and jump from his throat, he managed to finish the rune with smooth, fluid strokes.

The moment he was done, he collapsed at the foot the dais, heaving, shivering, feeling the worst he'd ever felt in his entire life but never so grateful to hear nothing at all – enjoy the silence to its fullest.

'Harry! Harry, are you alright?! Merlin, I'm so sorry!' Tracey rushed to his side, helping him sit up.

He cowered on the stone step, gently rocking forwards and backwards, teeth chattering. Tracey remained at his side, pulling a revolting pink blanket from somewhere within her robes. He'd never been so grateful for anything so gross.

For close to five minutes, they sat on the steps, unmoving and silent.

'Did you...did you hear what they said?' he asked eventually.

'No...I only understood fragments. Except for that last bit. That was...horrible!'

Harry didn't reply.

'But I...I can't believe we just did that.' Lowering her voice, she added, 'We wrote a set of runes in your blood, Harry. Sweet Morgana! I might as well research Inferi next summer.'

Harry gave a snort. It was ridiculous, of course, but he nevertheless found himself appreciating her attempt at humour. Without another word, he got up, leaving the disgusting but admittedly warm blanket crumpled on the floor. Pulling a specific spell from his memory, he swished his wand.

Tracey watched him through suspicious eyes. 'What's that?'

'A charm to preserve blood,' he muttered absent-mindedly.

'Do I even want to know why you'd know something as ghoulish as that?!'

'Probably not,' he admitted frankly.

'Why does it always have to be blood?! Can't it ever be ponies and roses with you?' Tracey shivered, snatching her blanket and drawing it tightly around her.

Despite himself, a laugh escaped Harry's lips. 'Stop that and let me concentrate! I need to ward the runes. The arch is practically soaked in magic, so this should definitely do the trick...'

Drawing a deep breath, he pointed his wand at the entire arch. One by one, microscopic anchors sprang up all over the outer boundary of the passageway. The area he was attempting to ward was huge – a thousand times bigger than anything he'd ever tried before, and it didn't help that he had to be careful not to disturb the runes. _How did Aenor make it look so easy during our first lesson...? One misstep and it's all ruined!_ It took him nearly ten minutes to attach the anchors alone, sweat dripping from his brow, his left fist clenched to keep his concentration. Slowly, tantalisingly slow, he finished weaving the web.

Tracey was watching like a cat the entire time, silently biding her time.

With a groan, he finally set the last hook.

'Are you done? Nothing's different!'

'I'm not finished, and be silent, please,' he muttered.

Deliberately donnish, he traced the invisible web with his wand, muttering under his breath. He'd bungled this part a dozen times back at Hogwarts, and he wasn't eager for a repeat run. Slowly, the ward was saturated with magic and the intent to balance, to move, and to disperse.

It was a close call, but – thankfully – the entire arch eventually flashed blindingly white, signalling a change. For just a moment, he could – even without concentrating – make out a flowing curtain of watery substance spanning the entire arch.

'Slytherin preserve us! What was that now?!' demanded Tracey, jumping up at the sudden flash that illuminated the entire chamber.

There wasn't supposed to be a flash, but when Harry gently caressed the stone, probing the barrier, he found it fully intact, continuously draining the magic of the arch. He had been careful to weave the barrier around the runes, and as far as he could tell, he'd succeeded. Whatever happened now, as long as no expert on warding intentionally dismantled the ward, it would shield the preserved runes. And if the arch really was a gateway, the magic of whatever lay beyond would fuel the ward indefinitely.

'It's done,' he said with a sigh of relief, slowly sliding down the now sealed gates of hell.

'Indeed,' remarked a female voice Harry didn't recognise. 'Mr Black, Miss Davis, you are both under arrest pending further notice. You are accused of having committed several offences in violation of diverse statutes of international law, including but not limited to the Charter of 1648 Concerning the Ban of Civilisation Threatening Research, ICW; the Decree Restricting Improper, Dark, and Dangerous Magicks, ICW Charter II, 1198; and the European Ban of Blood Magic, ICW Supplementary Treaty Article 13a, Division II, Section B, subpara. 33-42.

'You are further accused of violating the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, ICW, 1692, such charges being based upon a previous unlawful incursion of London City, United Kingdom, pursuant to the jurisdiction provided for in the Wizarding Codex of 814 as amended and restated in 1399.

'You are further alleged to have criminal culpability for your actions contributing to the deaths of 261.833 Muggles and 1.242 witches and wizards during the same incident, which included citizens of various European and Asian countries, thereby granting jurisdiction over such alleged criminal conduct to the ICW under _hostis humani generis_.

'Due to your previous aggressive actions exerted against lawful officers acting within the course of their duty, a Special Restraining Writ has been issued by the proper authorities, immediately confining you under the aegis of security detainment wardens until the empanelment of a tribunal, at which time you will have the right to present evidence at an official hearing of said tribunal _in camera_ , without prejudice or limitation to any right provided by the _corpus juris gentium_.

'You are advised that further charges may be added to this indictment at a later date and at the duly appointed prosecutor's discretion. Further take notice that the presentation of these charges under the jurisdiction of the International Conference of Wizards in no way prevents charges being brought against you by the lawful authorities of your country of citizenship or residence, or by any third country in which the alleged criminal conduct occurred.'

Measured footsteps rang through the chamber, and Harry – mouth wide open – looked in horror at the same black woman in her early forties he'd seen with Dora at the ball.

'To sum it all up,' the Auror said a great deal less formally, her mouth twisting into a grim smile, 'playtime's over, brats!'

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry gaped dimly at the confidently approaching woman. It was all too much!

'And just who are you supposed to be?' shouted Tracey.

With a jolt, Harry realised that she, at least, was _still_ sticking to the plan.

'Captain Williams, ICW designation et cetera, et cetera. So are you going to resist at all? I'd love to teach you some _manners_! My superior isn't here, thankfully, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind anyway if I rough you up a bit. God knows you little shits deserve it!'

'You've got nothing on us!' began Tracey, dauntless.

But the Auror Captain interrupted her with a casual wave of her hand. 'Wicked pissa! That everything?! As if it'd be that easy. No, no, you're coming with me – plain and simple. Even if British and – no doubt – bribed Aurors would turn up now, your asses belong to us! So, any last great act of defiance? Come on, give it a shot, you damned hell-spawn. You'll rot in prison for the rest of your miserable and hopefully short lives, but I wouldn't mind beating a bit of respect into you before that.'

Tracey and Harry exchanged a glance.

'Nothing? Really?! Too bad! Put down your wands or I'll consider your inaction an indication of imminent intent to resist arrest – or don't; it'd be more fun that way.'

 _We just need to get out of here!_

Behind his back, Harry flicked his wand. _Invoco Noctem!_

Night expanded like an explosion of darkness all around them. Harry, willing his muscles to move just one more time, jumped to the side, expecting a spell to hit his last known location. Nothing of the sort happened. Regaining his feet, he made to grab Tracey when something that felt like a charging herd of rhinos smashed against his right cheek.

Barely half a second later, a blazing mammoth, fifteen feet tall, tore through the darkness, its mighty snout and tusks ripping his charm to shreds like paper.

 _A Patronus_ , thought Harry dizzily, managing to raise his aching head just enough to recognise the resplendent animal. It shone so brightly that it hurt to even look in its direction. _And a prodigiously strong one, at that..._

'Yeah, about that,' said the Auror, smirking at him, 'I'm not deaf, you know. Half of London saw that charm in action, Black. Interesting bit of trivia, your family mixing its blood with Lethifolds. Maybe we can actually do that goof Prewett a bit of a favour. You weren't exactly telling the truth when you said the summoning was the only spell to come off your family's little pet project, were you?'

Tracey, exploiting the woman's fixation on Harry, cast two fast hexes at her from the side. Auror Captain Williams, however, reflected them casually, adding two curses of her own to the bundle of magic that rebounded and hit a shell-shocked Tracey before she could take a dive.

 _She didn't even look!_

'That's right, Black,' commented Williams with a grin, painfully sticking her wand at his inflamed cheek. 'No matter what you're capable of, no matter what you know – I know it too, and I can do it better. You're finished!'

Through the one eye that hadn't swollen shut, he stared at the woman jeering down at him. She loathed him, he realised. _No wonder – she probably knew those Aurors..._

Harry's eye wandered to the ceiling. So this was it. At least he'd managed to finish his business with the Lethifolds. Daphne and the rest were safe, too – a small mercy. He regretted allowing Tracey to stay, but – on the other hand – maybe he should stop trying to take responsibility for everything that happened. She had decided to stay on her own. Maybe he should respect that. His wand was pointing in his direction, he noticed. Maybe he'd obliviate himself as his last act as a sane person. With a bit of luck, he could limit the damage his stupidity would inflict on his family. Wouldn't it be poetic, too, after everything he'd done, especially to those Aurors back in London? A fitting end.

'And so it ends,' said Williams, a touch more coldly. Apparently, she too was struggling to keep her emotions under control. 'Thanks for cleaning up after yourself, but this is as far as you'll go...'

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, steeling himself for the last charm he'd ever cast...

The sound of fluttering ripped him from his preparations for martyrdom. Looking up, he saw something glide over his head, something with wings, something black. It circled over their heads a few times before it casually perched on top of the arch.

It was a raven.

'I'm afraid I can't allow that.'

Williams, who had been scrutinising the bird with apprehension, whirled around. Harry, fighting for breath, tried to lift his head. Just a bit more, just that tiny bit more...

And then he saw her. Wearing foreign, impractically wide and slightly torn robes of pure, innocent white, splattered with crimson from her shoulders to her feet, stood a witch who, or so Harry thought not for the first time, looked simply too gorgeous to be entirely real; her long, light blond hair unbound, her shapely figure teasingly hinted at despite the flapping garment's best efforts, her eyes the colour of chilly winter mornings – she looked like an angel no matter how you looked at her, and no matter how much blood clung to her. It was...disturbing, surreal and – yes – beautiful.

But Aenor looked furious. 'I've recently lost another interesting project. You can't have that one,' she said, pointing at Harry.

Williams looked tense if poised, slowly backing away, her wand outstretched. 'You're a monster! What do you even want with us?! Why did you attack us?!'

Aenor grinned, baring her teeth. 'The world is a big place, Auror Williams. Or is that Agatha Jones? I always get it wrong with ICW aliases.'

The Auror visibly stiffened. 'Who are you?!' she yelled. Then, apparently throwing a casual glance at the wand Aenor was pointing, her eyes widened. 'Where did you get that wand?!'

'Oh, yes. Found that one in London. That's your colleague's wand, isn't it? I thought it would be amusing to do this with your lobotomised comrade-in-arms' weapon. What was it you said to poor little Harry over there? ''No matter what you're capable of, no matter what you know – I know it too, and I can do it better.'' Such a shame, I'd hoped to find your superior here – I still have a score to settle with him.'

The Auror, breathing agitatedly, was fiddling with a little dark cube, her fingers moving frantically.

Aenor flicked her tongue in a schoolmasterly way. 'You really thought that would work? What a let-down. This is our last vale, Agatha Jones. I'll be sure to send your dear Rasmussen along as soon as possible.'

Hearing that, the Auror's wand exploded with action.

The captain, in an incredible display of skill that left Harry reeling, transfigured four entire rows of stone seats into wolves, lions, and other predators, and with the following animation, they all lunged at the younger woman, completely shielding the Auror from any possible retaliation.

Aenor, with an amused smile, flicked her wand, and a few dozen tons of rock...vanished.

The Auror, eyes bulging, send half a dozen curses – all of them too fast for Harry to follow – at her opponent.

And yet, shaking her head in good humour, Aenor simply conjured a golden shield from thin air, reflecting all the spells towards the ceiling.

'Was that a transmogrification I spotted? You really are talented, Mrs Jones,' she said earnestly, as if she was praising one of her third-years for successfully fighting off a Boggart. 'Such a waste! Almost worthy of my time – _almost_.'

'You...you monster!' shouted the Auror. And this time, for once, Harry recognised part of the spell she intended to use: a shielding charm, and a bloody good one, as well as something that shared vague similarities with the Portkey spell.

Aenor shrugged, carefully aiming her wand. 'I'd say until we meet again but-'

And just as the last syllable died away, the Auror was hit by three consecutive streaks of ominous green light. The first tore through her shield, the second and third hit her exactly where the heart was, forcing her to prance on the spot. For a second, it looked as if nothing else would happen. But then she fell.

'This really is farewell.'


	46. VoD: Divergence

_This chapter is dedicated to Haley, Daze, and Shu._

 **Divergence**

* * *

Aenor turned her back on the Auror as soon as she saw her spells connect, her alert eyes darting towards Harry.

'You okay, Harry?' she asked, cocking her head.

Harry didn't acknowledge her question. For what felt like minutes, the words raced up and down his nerves, until eventually some synapses that still weren't yet overwhelmed by fatigue and the brutally shifting tides of luck decided that it was about time to move some muscles in the general area of the jaw.

'What the...?! What are you doing here?!'

Aenor raised an eyebrow. 'Saving your skin – again? You're welcome, by the way.'

Pushing himself clumsily against the arch to sit up, Harry shot his teacher another, slightly reproachful look. 'What do you mean "again"? Did you attack all those Aurors in the Atrium?'

'Really? You still don't get it?' She flashed him a playful grin, slowly closing the distance. 'If you don't get it until I've finished healing you up, I'll fail you on your end-of-year exam!'

'I can heal my own wounds!'

'I'm not saying that you can't, but we might want to hurry it up. This may sting a bit.'

'What are y-'

Harry was interrupted by a pair of spells hitting his chest, knocking the air out of him. His insides were writhing, burning. To his distress, he could feel something crawling under his skin – living tendrils of flesh worming around his muscles and bones. He gritted his teeth. Ten seconds of what felt worse than Polyjuice later, the strange sensation vanished as fast as it had come, taking the accumulated wariness within his body with it. Even the bruise on his cheek felt better.

Disbelievingly, he gave his hand a shake. The cut was still there, but it looked as if the wound was days old. 'What was that spell?' he demanded eagerly, his eyes wide with envy.

Aenor chuckled. 'Not something you want to use on a regular basis. The charm overcharges the regenerative power of the body. Your cells will-'

'...age unnaturally fast. Yeah, I get it,' he finished her sentence, sighing wistfully. He should've known it was too good to be true.

Aenor looked pleased. 'Anyway, you get Davis and let's get out of here. I'm not sure how much longer the Fiendfyre will keep the Aurors at bay.'

'Wait, that was your curse back there?! And did you say Fiendfyre?!'

'Of course, it was.' She shook her head, sighing like a woman after a busy day in the office. 'If only I'd known that teaching would be such a hassle. Your grandfather is a slave driver.'

'Grandfather...?' repeated Harry rather lamely.

'Come _on_ – get a grip already! I've been following you guys around all year, trying to keep you alive. The Forest, London, Hogsmeade – you name it. Did you really think your grandfather would let you wander the post-apocalyptic Muggle wasteland on your own? Please!'

'Wait – so that was you?! With the building? I knew it was a miracle that we hadn't been smashed...'

She beamed at him, petting his head like a dog that, at long last, had learned to shake hands. 'That's right; I'm the higher power that saved you.'

Harry groaned, trying to ignore Aenor's teasing grin. 'Why didn't you tell me?!'

'I wasn't supposed to. Guess it doesn't really matter anymore since I had to finally reveal myself. Hopefully that's enough babysitting for now.'

'How did Grandfather even manage to coax you into this?!'

Aenor's playful expression turned sour. 'Your old man is nasty!' From the tone of her voice, Harry couldn't tell if she was truly angry or impressed despite herself. 'You remember that aunt of yours that made me swear an Unbreakable Vow? The exact wording was "to never betray the trust we place in you regarding Harry's safety".' Aenor hid her eyes behind her palm in apparent embarrassment. 'I can't believe I didn't spot that one. Guess what happened as soon as that malign dinosaur you call a grandfather was back in England?! Strode right into my office – without even knocking, mind you – and informed me that, with some dark monsters about, he _trusted_ that I'd keep you safe from any harm. What a joke!'

Aenor angrily rubbed her arm.

'Oh, er, sorry?' offered Harry with a weak grin.

She shot him a _look_ – one of those glances that had Harry inventing excuses as to why he wouldn't be able to partake in any upcoming training sessions.

'It wasn't all bad, I suppose,' she continued, her glare softening somewhat. 'I did get to see some interesting magic at least. Anyway, you can fire your questions later, let's get out of here first. Go grab Davis and wake her up already. Otherwise, I'll fail you next year, too!'

'Wait, you were joking, right? You won't actually fail me, will you?! You healed me instantly – how did I even stand a chance?!'

She shrugged, suspiring dramatically. 'Men are supposed to take their defeats with grace! You aren't whining now, are you, Harry?'

He glowered but kept his mouth shut, walking over to Tracey. Gently, he rolled the petite witch on her back. 'Was it really necessary to butcher the Aurors like that?' he muttered, deciding he'd brave the uncomfortable question after all.

'Not at all. Originally, I only intended to pave a way for you, but a few of them were more skilled than I'd anticipated.' She pointed at her left shin, where her entire robe was missing. 'Like there – that Asian floozie got me with some strange transfiguration. Had to vanish part of my leg. Or here,' she pointed at her shoulder. 'Someone grazed me with a twofold Blasting Curse.' Realising he was looking at her robes with interest, she sniggered, pointing at a tear below her neckline. 'Or here! That one was-'

'I get the picture,' Harry blurted out, averting his gaze and blushing slightly.

'Anyway, I only stunned the first few Aurors, but those special Aurors from the ICW are annoyingly serious about their profession. They didn't even want to listen to me. I guess I got a bit angry when they tried to do me in.'

 _A bit angry_ , Harry reflected grimly, shuddering as he remembered the mess Aenor had left behind near the elevators. 'One of them looked like he died of fright,' he muttered.

'Oh. Well, at some point, I didn't bother to parley anymore. Some of those Aurors were trained to resist memory modifications. Pesky and tenacious – I guess it's a relief that the ICW isn't entirely useless but I had a schedule to keep – I never intended you to find me down here. But what's done is done, I suppose...' She held up the wand she'd pilfered from one of the Aurors Harry had obliviated in London and gave it a closer inspection. 'Good wand. I always preferred Gregorovitch... Well, whatever.' With a snap, she broke the wand in half, tossing the pieces over her shoulder.

 _So that's why there wasn't any wound..._ Harry pressed his lips together until they tingled, his eyes concentrated on the slumped body of a woman that died in a glorious display of vile magic, her entire soul ripped in three parts by means of the _one_ curse.

He averted his eyes. Thankfully, Tracey looked relatively unharmed. Even in her rage, the late American Auror had – or so it seemed – managed to hold back. Harry rummaged with some amount of care in Daphne's trunk, deciding to nag his cousin at some later point in time on why she'd chosen to have her trunk warded against summoning items from within. Only a few seconds later, he instead vowed to never mention this incident _ever again_ after his hands confronted him with a distinctly female item of clothing he was not in the least mentally prepared to face. He squeezed his eyes shut with all his might, listening, awaiting the clinking of glassy phials that promised accelerated healing.

Eventually, Tracey awoke, wrapped in her own blanket depicting smiling and fluffy white clouds upon which happily snoozing hippogriphs of various colours rested in front of a shockingly pink sky.

'Nice blanket, Davis,' commented Aenor with a smug grin.

Tracey's bemused expression immediately turned defensive and angry, her accusing stare pinning Harry to the spot.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his head. 'This might take some explaining...'

'No doubt, but I'd rather get going already. I have confidence in my spellwork, but even if the Aurors or Unspeakables try to preserve as much of the Ministry as they can, they're bound to overcome the fire sooner or later. Where's the rest of your little gang? I need to fix you all up, and you need to learn your lines.'

'Hogsmeade, but what about Dum-' protested Tracey.

'Just shut up and follow my lead. We'll go back together,' said Aenor in a commanding voice, producing another black Ministry Portkey.

Tracey, eyes narrowed, hissed angrily – like a cat forced to abandon its nap in the sun.

'No need for hostilities, Davis,' said Aenor with a smirk that worried Harry. 'I've got an exciting plan; you'll see! Did you leave any witnesses, Harry?'

'No, I obliviated that Japanese lady and her colleague.'

'Turned them into drivelling fools?' asked Aenor. Harry thought he detected a rather expectant undertone in her voice.

'Er, no?'

Aenor flicked her tongue. 'It doesn't matter, I suppose. The fire will have prevented anyone from fleeing, and my opponents are in no condition to report our identity. I'd say we're good to go!' She stealthily swished her own shiny ivory wand over the floor, etching some kind of picture into the stone. It looked like another bird, this one with a small, plump body and a very distinctive tail. Sadly, Harry was no ornithologist.

Seeing his raised eyebrow, Aenor winked at him, putting a forefinger to her lips. 'The next few hours are going to be rather nerve-wracking; I suggest the both of you better have a big swig of this to soothe the nerves. Trust me, it'll come in handy.'

From another unseen pocket within her strange robes, she produced a jug of something that smelled vaguely of apples.

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'You're kidding, right?'

It appeared, however, that their teacher was not kidding. 'Less whining, more action! We won't leave until the both of you have emptied that! And there's no telling when the Aurors will turn up...'

'It's not poisoned, is it?' demanded Tracey suspiciously.

Aenor rolled her eyes and took a small sip. 'Satisfied? Now, get to it!'

'Is this really something a teacher, no matter how dubious, should say?' mumbled Tracey sarcastically. She looked at him in question. Harry shrugged non-committally. He just wanted to sleep, and if it only took drinking this highly suspect liquid to get some sleepy time, well, how bad could it go?

'Alright,' said Tracey, raising the jug. 'This better be some damn good plan...'

 _~BLVoD~_

'…and that's when I found them in Hogsmeade, hidden away in the Shrieking Shack, having their little drinking contest.'

Harry, through the haze of the cider, stared straight ahead. He couldn't tell if the heat crawling up his spine was embarrassment, anger, or inebriation. He clenched his fists. If only Aenor would stop smirking already. It didn't help that his grandfather and the entire Board of Governors were lurking in the background, invited to witness the proceedings. Esmerelle Greengrass' gaze, in particular, could have frozen the Great Lake.

He'd never felt so humiliated in his entire life.

'Indeed,' said Dumbledore severely, his wizened face expressionless. Their head of house stood behind the headmaster, scowling and disgusted. 'And Miss Greengrass, Mr and Miss Lestrange, as well as Mr Malfoy were just there to observe the challenge?'

'Sir, we tried our best to make them come back!' pleaded Draco, sickeningly sycophantic. 'Drinking alcohol is against the school rules, after all, and Harry wasn't even out of the infirmary y- OUCH!'

'Miss Greengrass, Miss Lestrange, detention!' drawled Snape.

'Sorry, _sir_ ,' replied Amy, unconcerned, her natural cynicism restored thanks to the first aid Aenor had applied in Hogsmeade.

'So you mean to tell us,' hissed Prewett, his left eye twitching angrily, 'that you didn't leave Hogsmeade and had no other goal in mind than to frivolously break with a dozen school rules to have a _drinking contest_?!'

'Why would we leave Hogsmeade?' asked Harry curiously, concentrating hard on the second of three visions of Prewett his brain was currently confronting him with. Multiplication, no matter how hallucinated, didn't improve the man much, Harry decided.

Snape's lips curled unpleasantly – but then he merely scowled again, apparently thinking better of answering.

'But this is utter nonsense!' protested Prewett, apoplectic. 'This is the most blatant, feeble, and pathetic excuse I've ever heard! Surely, you must see this, Headmaster?!'

Most helpfully, Tracey chose this moment to point at Prewett, giggling. 'Your ears are funny-looking!'

Dumbledore inclined his head, his brilliant eyes focusing entirely on Harry. After three unnaturally long seconds, he said, 'Well, Mr Black and Miss Davis do appear to be intoxicated. Did you find anything on any of them when you searched them, Severus?'

Snape's lips twitched again as if the answer was causing internal injuries. 'With the exception of that clay jug? No, Headmaster.'

'Ridiculous!' yelled Prewett, stamping his foot. 'They could've gone anywhere! How do we know they didn't leave Hogsmeade?!'

'None of these students has passed his or her Apparition test yet,' said Aenor calmly. 'How do you picture them leaving Hogsmeade, Professor Prewett?'

'He's a Black, for Merlin's sake! How can we be sure he doesn't know how to apparate?!'

'Underage apparition is tracked by the Ministry, is it not?' asked Aenor softly.

'Portkey, then! We all know he has a _history_ with Portkeys!'

Prewett looked victoriously at Aenor.

'And yet, as far as we can tell, no illegal Portkey was detected within the grounds of Hogsmeade this evening.' Dumbledore sounded tired. With a little sigh, he leaned back in his heavy chair, his stern eyes still sizing Harry and his friends up.

'He brought it then! Must have done!'

'We are all aware that no common Portkey could breach the place you are so convinced Mr Black and his friends illegally entered, Randall.'

This, it seemed, was the last straw for their History of Magic teacher. 'YOU CANNOT LET HIM GET AWAY WITH THIS! They were there, I know it!'

'At the very least,' agreed Snape, looming over Dumbledore's throne like a carnivorous houseplant, 'Mr Black and company admit to leaving the castle.'

'True,' admitted Dumbledore. 'Do you have anything else you wish to add, Mr Black? Miss Davis?'

Tracey, bright red and leaning heavily on her best friend, shook her head. She stopped in the middle of the motion, eyes wide, both hands firmly pressed against her mouth.

'No, sir,' said Harry. As an afterthought, he added with a blithe grin, 'Except that I totally crushed the contest, of course.'

Dumbledore coughed delicately. 'I meant, if you had anything to add _to your defence_ , Harry.'

'Oh, er...In that case, no, I don't think so, sir.'

'At any rate,' surmised Dumbledore, his gaze riveted on a portrait on the far wall, 'I'll leave the matter of punishment entirely up to you, Severus. But rest assured that I shall be writing your parents an official letter of complaint about your behaviour tonight. Yes, that includes you, Mr Malfoy.'

'But, sir!' whined Draco, casting a fretful look in his father's direction.

Harry followed the headmaster's gaze. Among the dozens and dozens of portraits that covered more than one wall, one frame was entirely charred and barren.

'Even though the latest security measures have been lifted, you acted most irresponsibly by leaving the castle instead of contacting your head of house or any prefect. I appreciate that doing so might have felt like betraying your friends-'

'...no, that's really not the case, sir...'

'But in your misguided attempt to keep your friends out of trouble,' continued Dumbledore, ignoring Draco's protestations, 'you endangered not only yourself but potentially those you meant to protect. Good intentions, you will find, make for a good excuse but a bad alibi.'

Harry's eyes were riveted to the floor.

'We'll see about this,' snapped Prewett, throwing one last hateful glance at Arcturus before stalking off.

Dumbledore watched his History teacher leave. 'Be that as it may, for now, it is time for bed. Harry, Madame Pomfrey will want to check up on you tomorrow.'

'Yes, sir.'

'You will be informed of your punishment tomorrow at breakfast,' interposed Snape.

'Do you have any concerns or objections?' asked Dumbledore, his words – for once – directed at the silent crowd in the background.

Lucius Malfoy narrowed his eyes. 'None. Such boorish and uncouth behaviour is a disgrace to the name of magic. I shall take a _personal_ interest in the punishment to be handed out.'

Draco, Harry noticed despite the distracting gurgling noises his stomach produced and the fuzzy mist that currently clouded his vision, flinched.

'How about the children? Do you feel like you're being treated fairly?' asked a blurry shape Harry barely recognised as Mr Abbott.

Someone elbowed Draco just as he was about to open his mouth again.

'Yes, sir,' the rest of them chorused obediently.

'Well, off you go, then,' said Dumbledore with a sad little smile. 'Try not to stray...'

When Harry passed Aenor, he felt her covertly put something in the pocket of his robes.

 _Daphne's trunk!_ he thought, grateful that he wouldn't have to explain to his cousin that the teacher she hated most was currently in possession of her belongings.

'Professor Rose?' They heard Dumbledore's voice call out as soon as the door closed behind them. 'A short word please...'

On the way down the steps, Harry nearly collided with Professor McGonagall, who seemed to be in a particularly foul mood. She looked dazed, holding her head as if suffering from an intense headache. She was also – mysteriously – glaring angrily at Harry. 'Po... Black – detention!' she barked, groaning and staggering up the stairs.

'What's got her all riled up?!' asked Draco in a hushed voice as soon as they were out of earshot.

'I have no idea,' confessed Harry, nonplussed.

'Daphy!' groaned Tracey. 'I'm not feeling so well. Carry me!'

Daphne, however, kept staring straight ahead, acting as if her best friend was some total stranger.

'Why are you and Tracey drunk again, mate? This is utterly ridiculous!' complained Draco. 'Look at the trouble I'm in!'

'Please...let's not go there tonight. I just want to go to bed...'

'Yes, who cares?! This is fun! Come on – princess carry! Please, Daphy, just this once!' whined Tracey.

They all marched on in silence.

'I can charm my eyes green like Harry's if it helps,' Tracey offered.

'Can we all agree not to give Tracey any alcohol – ever?' proposed Amy, dead serious.

They all nodded somberly, especially Draco, who had been treated to ten minutes of various forms of 'What is vain, snobby, proud, probably an albino, and rhymes badly with sex toy?'

Tracey giggled. 'I love you guys,' she slurred, her voice purring like a cat. 'Except you, Harry, because this is all your fault! And Draco – but who could really love Draco anyway.' She clapped Draco, who was ashen with anger, happily on the back. 'Good thing you're rich – you might have died all alone otherwise!'

 _~BLVoD~_

Arcturus watched Dumbledore and Snape question Rose, outwardly unmoved. She did well, he had to admit, given that she was cross-examined by both the headmaster and Slytherin's head of house, both individuals of praiseworthy cunning in their own right, not to mention several more liberal or neutral Board members. At least Esmerelle would pose no problem here – she would do all she could to keep the incident as inconsequential as possible to prevent the public impression that her family still had ties to his. Rodolphus, on the other hand, looked disinterested. _Good man._ It was also fortuitous that the Longbottoms had to send a proxy in their stead. Frank was straightforward and – as such – easy enough to deal with, even if he possessed by all rights a very keen mind. Alice, by stark contrast, should always have been a Slytherin.

'Please, describe once more the exact scene you witnessed as you stumbled upon the students in as much detail as you can recollect, Professor Rose,' requested Dumbledore politely. It certainly _sounded_ like a request.

'As I said, Headmaster,' returned the young woman calmly, 'they were all huddled around Mr Black and Miss Davis, who kept passing the jug between the two of them. The others, with the exception of Mr Lestrange, were cheering them on, though Miss Greengrass, at least, seemed somewhat apprehensive.'

'Who held the jug when you found them?' asked Snape, a great deal less polite than Dumbledore.

'Mr Black.'

'Why were you out of the castle again, Professor Rose? We could find no trace of either you or Professor McGonagall upon our arrival – though Minerva's absence has, of course, been explained since,' inquired Abbott curiously.

Arcturus suppressed the urge to chuckle. Rodolphus didn't, earning himself a fierce glare. Minerva was currently seated in a corner of the magically expanded room, cared for by the ever-faithful Poppy.

'As I explained, Mr Abbott, I was heading for a stroll outside. I was given to understand that the Board usually announces inspections ahead of time, so I didn't give it a second thought. Am...Am I in trouble?' she asked, looking so lovingly worried, so vulnerable.

 _Well done,_ thought Arcturus with commendation. _Carrot and stick, both wrapped in a soft layer of innocence. It seems I wasn't the only one teaching my descendant rhetoric. I just wish Harry had a bit more of her casual confidence..._

'No, no, my dear!' Abbott assured the seemingly anxious young lady. 'We just wish to get a clear picture of what happened tonight.'

'Oh. Of course! Is there something else I can help with, then?'

Regrettably, not all of those present were taken in as easily as Abbott or as readily provoked as Prewett.

'I seem to recall,' said Dumbledore, 'that the...recommendation...we received to accept your application mentioned your mnemonic prowess. Could you, please, tell us in which order the students sat – as you say – huddled around Mr Black and Miss Davis?'

 _Mnemonic prowess Miss Rose will indeed need this evening – if only not to get tangled in contradictions._

'Tell me, Professor Rose,' drawled Snape with an evil glint to his dark eyes, 'theoretically speaking, what would be the most likely way for a group of students to invade the Ministry. As the Defence the Dark Arts teacher, you surely have some ideas – purely hypothetical, of course.'

 _And evade implicating questions..._

But, to his temporary relief, Rose did well after all. Ten minutes of gruelling and devilishly tricky questions most hardened criminals wouldn't face unless called before the entire Wizengamot, Lucius and the ever so expedient Abbott patriarch raised thinly veiled concerns about the appropriateness of the proceedings.

'I apologise, Professor Rose,' said Dumbledore, shrinking a bit in his seat. 'It seems we went a bit too far. The Ministry will, if I may be so bold as to hazard a guess, likely seek an official statement from you in the coming days – if I know our History teacher at all. As far as Hogwarts goes, you may consider this matter closed.'

'Thank you, Headmaster.' She bowed politely, first to her colleague, then the Board, and finally to Dumbledore. 'I think I shall retire for the night. A good evening to you all.'

A dozen pairs of eyes watched her leave. Arcturus felt gratified that she had chosen to rub it in that _some_ people, at least, still knew their manners.

'I have to ask, Dumbledore,' began Lucius, his voice drenched with venom. 'You and your staff seem...oddly fixated on implicating Mr Black, Professor Rose, and _my son_! Should I be worried that you're taking this personally? If so, I might feel inclined to...follow your example!'

From the corner of his eye, he could see that _both_ Poppy and – surprisingly – Minerva looked a shade uncomfortable.

Dumbledore inclined his head. 'Not at all, Lucius. I'm sorry to hear that you feel that way.'

'What then is the reason for this mysterious endeavour to frame my son and the other children?' asked Lucius in the tone of a barely concealed demand.

Snape and Dumbledore shared a glance.

'Professor Prewett and Antonius are still quite close – even after all these years. I'm afraid I cannot tell you specifics about his investigations but-'

'It seems to me,' said Arcturus, raising his voice for the first time in quite a while, 'that you are telling us that – in point of fact – you questioned students to whom you are sworn to offer guidance and protection as well as a junior teacher under your care because of hearsay, rumours, and unfounded accusation. I wasn't aware it was Hogwarts' headmaster's duty to conspire with foreign Aurors to assist in extra-legal investigations.'

Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his temple. 'I will not, nor have I, shared any knowledge with Antonius or his subordinates about what transpired or may have transpired – you may rest assured.'

'It's not assurance I need,' Arcturus returned coldly, turning around to leave. 'I need a headmaster who knows his duty and _place_.'

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, the rest of the Board followed him outside. Arcturus shook hands where needed, made compliments where expected, smiled where appropriate, and loudly thanked Abbott for his exemplary conduct. The man looked flustered and a touch embarrassed by the praise he received from the head of a family his political alliance considered their enemy.

Arcturus dropped the polite smile as soon as Abbott disapparated from within Hogsmeade. Only Lucius remained.

For the first time this entire evening, Arcturus produced his left hand from within his sleeve. Blood shone in the grey flood of moonlight where his nails had bit into his flesh the moment he knew Harry had arrived at the Ministry.

Lucius gave his hand a quick glance. 'Getting soft in your old age, Arcturus?'

Arcturus wiped his hand with his dress handkerchief, still clutching his wand with the other one. 'Want to try me, Lucius?' he asked mildly.

Malfoy chuckled softly. 'Not tonight, I think.'

 _~BLVoD~_

The man who called himself Antonius strode through the foetid cesspit usually referred to as the Atrium of the Ministry, his mouth a tight snarl. The Aurors were still busy _tidying_ the place up. The Minister himself had given orders that knowledge of what had happened at the Ministry that night was to be restricted – not particularly difficult, Antonius surmised, given that the Ministry barely knew anything in the first place.

With suppressed rage, he watched two women carry what remained of the...remains away. There really wasn't much to carry, which sadly didn't help at all with how gruesome the task was.

He scowled, stepped into the lift, slammed the shutters close, and jabbed impatiently at the number nine.

 _'Level 9: Department of Mysteries'_

He was late; domestic Aurors were already securing the place. Briefly, he wondered where Williams was. He was sure she wouldn't ever let him forget how he was late because of a _school inspection_.

The corridor leading towards the department looked as if a gentle breeze might cause the entire structure to tumble down. Indeed, even now wizards were frantically applying spells to the brickwork. He didn't have to look far for the source of the devastation; one cross-way ahead, only a few dozen yards from the old courtrooms, a few British lads and lasses were still fighting what looked liked the last pockets of a voracious and suspiciously wilful fire. Antonius knew that you could see just about anything in the flames granted you looked long enough, but the head of what looked like a cockatrice was a shade _too_ lifelike to be entirely imagined.

Fiendfyre – Merlin, how he despised the stuff. Reckless, haphazard, and abominably destructive. From his experience, only the worst of the worst resorted to this kind of magic. Those who used it successfully and with some measure of control were worse still. Those were people that needed to be dealt with – conclusively.

In front of the door that led to the interior of the Unspeakable's sanctuary, a man he recognised cowered, his face a grimace of terror, his features contorted by the mind-shattering fear he must have felt during his last moments.

 _Torres..._

A perfunctory glance revealed no obvious wounds.

 _The Killing Curse or a Legilimency attack..._

He gently closed the eyes of the man, wondering why nobody had thought to do so. Where was Williams?!

The door itself was a mess, the familiar charm blinking in angry green and yellow warning lights indicating that the object was cursed and still not entirely safe to handle. Careful not to touch the stone, he swept inside.

British Aurors were everywhere, buzzing around the few Unspeakables that, like icebergs in the turbulent sea, seemed to be almost disturbingly in control of themselves. He waved the few junior Aurors away who questioned his right to be there, strolling past one of the younger Unspeakables who was shouting orders at the Aurors in a soft and kind voice that seemed entirely unserviceable with commanding a rabble of Aurors. Her hood turned in his direction for a second, but – as of right now – he was apparently of no concern to their department.

He walked past a few sick junior Aurors fresh out of the academy. He knew where he needed to go, where he would find answers. He hadn't left Williams at the Ministry due to a wild guess.

'Death Chamber,' he barked at the room, and – to the protests of the British fresh meat – the room obliged. He kicked the door open.

His schooled eyes widened, taking in every last hint in a fraction of a second. The missing rows of stone benches, the strange gleam surrounding the arch and the Unspeakables studying it, the cracks in the supposedly nigh-indestructible ceiling...and the unmoving body in the back of the chamber.

His gaze hardened. Ignoring Shacklebolt's gloomy greeting, he walked straight towards his own people – two of his people. Fujiwara looked grave, curbed. Boris, on the other hand, was barely standing, his entire face hidden under layers of bandages.

They felt like a thousand miles, those few dozen paces he had to make.

Fujiwara's dark eyes stared back at his own. Then, she began to tell what they'd pieced together. As if he were drunk, he listened as words like 'ambush', 'obliviation', and 'sole survivors' flew past him. One of the Unspeakables had joined their group, twaddling something about a barrier.

In cold anger, he gazed at the woman he'd promoted only weeks ago. Fujiwara was waving some kind of broken wand in front of his face. He didn't really watch or listen.

They were all _dead_! He'd brought ten people he trusted with him, and someone had damn near killed them all?! Someone really wanted to make this personal.

He felt a prickle in his thumbs. With a scowl, he crouched down.

'...Sir?' asked Fujiwara, confused.

He didn't answer. Carefully, he inspected the corpse.

'I need light, Fujiwara.'

A second later, a soft and slightly modified wandlight shone down upon the very latest captain of his personal entourage. Maybe the job was cursed after all.

In the violet light of the wand, subtle lines in the stone came into focus. A picture! But even as they watched, the lines seemed to fade.

'Bird,' grunted Boris.

'I'm no bloody birdwatcher! You have any idea, Fujiwara?'

The woman eyed the etching for a few moments. 'I believe it's supposed to be a magpie.'

'A magpie...?'

That...seemed to mean something – even if, right now, he couldn't exactly remember what. Fujiwara and Boris, as well as the Unspeakable, seemed completely in the dark.

'You,' Antonius said, pointing rudely at the Unspeakable. 'I need access to your library on symbolism, both occult and historiographic.'

For a second, the man seemed inclined to argue, but then he had a second look at his eyes. 'Er, yes, I'm sure that can be arranged – er, sir?'

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry slept for nearly two days – not because of any malicious magical malady but because he felt liberated, unburdened of some unknowable weight he'd been carrying for months. Since Poppy was of a mind to have him run any test she could think of – as punishment, he figured – he just relented, alternating between sleeping, reading, and learning from Poppy's purposefully absent-minded ramblings. It wasn't bad, really.

Unforeseen, his streak of loafing was interrupted on the morrow of the third day by a person he hadn't dared to expect.

'Grandfather?' Harry shouted, immediately sitting up.

'Harry,' the man said with a quick smile. 'I had to have a short word with Daphne, but I'm pleased that I found the time to check up on you. How are you?'

Harry's eyes darted around the room. Arcturus, with a soft smile, grabbed Harry's hand. Harry felt the chill of the disguised signet ring press against his skin like metallic Calming Draught. 'I'm...better.'

'A start, I suppose,' said Arcturus. 'We shall speak more thoroughly this summer; there are matters that need to be discussed in private.'

'You're really leaving already?'

'Alas, as of late I find myself with less and less time to spare even though I seem to need less and less sleep. I wonder if I'm growing slow...'

'You aren't that old yet, Grandfather!'

Arcturus chuckled lightly. 'When you turn twenty, my son, you'll think you're getting old but at least you're not thirty yet. Turning thirty, you'll think, now I'm old – but at least I'm not in my forties. But, and this is the miracle, when you finally come close to the dreaded hundred, all you can think of is that – at the very least – you're now so old that you can do and say whatever you please.' Once more, he gave a warm chuckle, standing up from the chair next to Harry's bed. 'Don't worry, we shall speak this summer. I promise.'

'Why...did you intervene, Grandfather?' asked Harry in a hushed voice, looking around furtively.

Arcturus Black turned around, thoughtful. 'Do you think I acted prematurely?'

'...No.'

'Or that you could have guaranteed your own safety while making good on your misstep?'

'...No.'

The brow of the old man wrinkled. 'Then what is it that really bothers you, Harry?'

'Don't the rules of our family say that it should've been me who solved it all?'

'And didn't you? I don't recall warding the Veil, my son,' Arcturus said with a flicker of a smile.

'Yes, but you had Aen-'

'That is between me and Miss Rose, Harry. Did you honestly think I'd wager my heir because a few of our relatives might complain if I bend the rules a bit? We'll speak of that this summer.'

With a smirk, he twirled his walking cane around his fingers like a man sixty years younger. 'Besides, those aren't exactly rules – they're more along the lines of suggestions, as far as I am concerned. The world belongs to those of nimble minds, Harry – don't grow stiff and awestruck. Ideologies, like anything else, are a tool – a crutch. They help us understand the world in simpler terms. But sometimes,' with a gentle smile, he bent the cane around his fingers one last time before it plopped down. Immediately, his entire body leant on it as if the stick was all that kept him standing. 'Sometimes, ideologies are just fancy baggage. It's not the rules or even the game that matter, my dear boy, just playing – and winning.'

 _~BLVoD~_

Antonius carelessly flung another book over his shoulder, ignoring Fujiwara's reproachful look. She, too, was currently engrossed in some lecture called _The Truth of Triviality – A Study on Symbolism in the Occident._ Boris, despite his partially unhealed injuries, had insisted on being present as well – as 'moral support' as he had called it. Currently, he was snoozing noisily, resting his head on a few of the books his commander in chief had thrown away.

'Sir?' asked Fujiwara eventually.

'What?!'

'Shouldn't we be reporting back to headquarters?'

'You know they'll pull us off this mission!' This didn't seem to convince the Japanese, so he added, 'Don't worry, I've had Ahuja take care of the relatives. But I'm not leaving without some answers! I'll pay you and Boris out of my own pocket if you're worried about that...'

'It's not money I'm concerned about,' she replied, indignant.

'Stop your worrying! I'll take full responsibility. They can't dismiss me, and they can't discipline you if I say I ordered you to stay.'

'Whatever you say, Boss,' mumbled Boris, idly fishing for some uncomfortable tome under his back and throwing it away. With a content sigh, he closed his eyes again, smacking his lips like a man about to enjoy another well-earned siesta.

'Could the both of you treat these books with a bit of respect?' snapped Fujiwara, finally losing her patience. 'They were lent to us in good faith!'

Antonius rolled his eyes. 'They're all protected from physical harm.'

'It seems...disrespectful!'

'Japanese!' snorted Boris, eyes still closed. 'Good thing Glucksburgh isn't here. The Jerry's just as annoying about order and cleanliness.'

Fujiwara's mouth became a thin line of displeasure. 'It's pronounced "Glücksburg"! And it's bad manners to speak ill of your colleagues!'

'Oh, what's this?' Boris gave a bark of laughter. Blood started to ooze through the bandages around his chest in reaction to his roaring laughter but this didn't seem to perturb the man – or quench his amusement. 'Have your eye on him, Fujiwara? I bet the both of you would christen your children in disinfectant – if procreation is still a thing of possibility in your perfectly sterile world, of course.'

Antonius ignored his subordinates' bickering. With the uncertainty that came with the obliviation, tensions had been high, and a bit of stress relief would do them good. Still, he _was_ grateful Glücksburg wasn't here. Luckily, his monstrosity of a family tree that linked him to all notable pure-blood families in Europe as well as almost any nobility of the Old World had given Antonius the perfect excuse to leave him behind, safely tucked away behind Antonius' own desk, 'holding the fort' – as he had chosen to euphemise it.

He had to grudgingly admit, though, that it had proven to be a mistake not to take any of the Loremasters with him. He'd lost one battle specialist, one Tracer, one expert on runes, three Minders, two beast handlers – and those were only the specialists he'd brought along. And – again – his adjutant, who had also been extremely proficient with transfigurations and all matters of wards and, to his secret delight, linguistics. It had been Williams who had confirmed his suspicions that the Veil was the likely source of the Lethifold incursion. He should've called for more duellists, but Williams had assured him that there was still almost a week until those horrors would make another bid for this world. She had probably been right, but now she was dead all the same.

Grimly, he turned the page.

 _'In contrast to East Asia, the common magpie has been held in low esteem in Europe since ages past, often portrayed as thieving, an omen of death, or even associated with witchcraft itself...'_

Supporting his head with his hand, Antonius turned the page.

 _'...modern studies indicate that the magpie's level of intelligence is...'_

He sighed, shutting the book with a snap and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder. He grabbed another tome at random: _Historiography of Omens of Magic – DoM_.

From one second to the next, he sat up straight, gazing at the title with interest. He hadn't expected department-owned documents to be included. In fact, they weren't _supposed_ to be included. His liaison had plainly told him that, without proper petitions through the right channels, this was the best they could do for now. Had there been a mistake? But the British Unspeakables were famous for being meticulous. Could they really make a blunder like this? At a time like this? With all of them being on alert?

With a frown, he inspected the binding of the book. The book was clad in cold, smooth leather – as was the custom in these parts. The writing was done professionally but looked otherwise unremarkable. There was, as he had expected, no hint about the author; this was, after all, intelligence.

But there was one thing out of place, one thing to disturb him. All the bookmarks were neatly lined up on the first page, ready to be used – except one. With apprehension, his fingers ran over the expensive fabric. Holding his breath, he turned to the marked page near the middle of the book.

It was the entry on the symbolism of magpies in wizarding Europe.

'What the hell?!' he exclaimed, narrowing his eyes.

'Sir?' asked Fujiwara, looking up from her own reading.

'You better come see this. It seems we've received a gift.'

Boris scrambled over, leaning heavily on his shoulder. 'You sure that's genuine, Boss? Could be a diversion or a false lead.'

'It certainly looks genuine. I've seen a few British reports from the department before. See? Even the coat of arms and the legal warning is here,' said Antonius, opening the first page to make his point.

'But who could have possibly hidden it within the pile we received? The Unspeakables? The Minister? Could one of those British families have enough pull to make something like this happen?' asked Fujiwara, intrigued.

'I don't know... Why would anyone help us?' Antonius glared at the book, willing it to answer his questions.

'We should look at the last entry first,' proposed Fujiwara assiduously. 'We don't need to know about Europe's past fascination with burning non-believers.'

'Really?! That's all you reduce a thousand years of history to? It's not like we burned _everyone_ ,' complained Boris, looking oddly hurt by the insinuation.

Antonius pointed to the last entry.

' _The last noteworthy and most controversial instance of stylised carvids in modern Europe dates back to the trials of Grindelwald. Shortly before his incarceration in his own prison fortress-_ '

'Shortly before his incarceration – what?!' demanded Boris angrily. 'Turn the page already, Boss!'

Antonius did so. The next page contained a new entry: martens.

'The devil's going on here?!' complained Boris. 'They didn't finish the entry?!'

'No,' Fujiwara corrected him, lighting her wand. 'Look closely! One page was ripped out.'

'Someone's toying with us!'

'Not necessarily. The information might be restricted even for Unspeakables, though I have to admit that the method seems a bit...crude,' admitted Fujiwara.

Antonius didn't say anything. He had been there – almost fifty years ago.

He clenched his fists, memories flooding his mind.

Grindelwald!

Grindelwald – sitting shackled in his chair, poised and stoic. Grindelwald – speaking with a fervour that was...entrancing. Grindelwald, even dosed with Veritaserum, the most fearsome demagogue the world had ever seen. Grindelwald, whom they had to gag when, after his initial speech, the crowds began to riot. Grindelwald, the man they had hailed as the most powerful wizard in history – right until Dumbledore won the duel with a hundred people watching from afar. Grindelwald, the monster who had butchered thousands and thousands with the ardent belief of being in the _right_!

The bastard who had killed his family.

The piece of shit he'd vowed to root out of Europe until nothing but weathered gravestones and boring history books remained.

Grindelwald!

'Get ready to travel,' he said succinctly, pocketing the book.

'What? Why?'

'Sir?'

'You two – ever been to Nurmengard?'

 _~BLVoD~_

Like the last few Saturdays, Harry sat in Professor McGonagall's office, his quill scratching over dozens and dozens of empty sheets of parchment. Longingly, he stared outside, watching some distant figures zoom around the Quidditch pitch. The weather was finally coming around, and he dearly wished to be outside for a breath of fresh air with his friends. Frankly, any company but the irate transfiguration mistress seated in front of him would be a welcome change of pace. Alas, he still had eleven more of their private sessions to look forward to.

He also needed to get serious about his studies. The exams, as Hermione pointed out every other minute, were coming ever closer, and even though he didn't really care about the Muggle-born's one-sided challenge, it would be slightly...irksome to lose.

The parchment in front of him gave a screech, and McGonagall coughed pointedly, raising an eyebrow in no uncertain manner.

He sighed, resting his chin on the ball of his thumb, watching the almost automatic movement of his right hand.

 _I must not hex cats wandering the castle. I must not hex cats wandering the castle. I must not..._

It was particularly insulting that Professor McGonagall had decided to have him write lines for hours and hours. The parchment, charmed by his teacher, would always give a warning whenever his mind wandered – and his writing turned into even more of a scrawl.

It had to be the dullest form of torture ever invented by humanity.

The pointers of the clock crept by, occasionally interrupted in their sluggish turns by the screeching of Harry's parchment. At some point, a strange yowling, like that of a wounded dog, echoed all the way from the Quidditch pitch into McGonagall's office window. Teacher and student had stared at one another for a second before, with a shrug, they had both decided that it was probably just another prank by Peeves, or the Weasleys, or some other incident that constituted a perfectly ordinary day for Hogwarts' student body.

Three hours, some forty sheets of parchment, a few dozen reminding screeches, and some pointedly raised eyebrows later, Professor McGonagall finally dismissed him. 'That will do for today, Black,' she said, vanishing the ink from the parchment in one fell swoop of her wand, banishing the stack neatly into the corner of her office where it would lay in wait for him seven days from now.

It was really demeaning to have her demonstrate how entirely pointless the entire exercise was. Given her subtly smug expression, she seemed to be aware of that.

'Yes, Professor.'

'See yourself out. I shall await you next week at the usual time.'

'Yes, Professor. Good night, Professor.'

She nodded primly, returning to grading some papers. 'Good night, Black.'

Shutting the door with a polite bow, Harry reflected that Professor McGonagall's new way of addressing him seemed, at the same time, somehow both exasperated and melancholic.

 _What in Merlin's name did you do to that woman, Sirius?!_

Flexing his right hand, he made his way towards the Slytherin common room. Maybe he'd get to finish Flitwick's essay tonight. Tomorrow, after all, he still had his other detention with Tracey – again. Professor Snape had assigned Daphne and the rest three detentions cleaning potion cauldrons. Tracey and Harry, on the other hand, had – with the nastiest smirk Harry had ever seen on the Potion Master's face – been informed that they were to help Rosmerta in Hogsmeade for eight hours each Sunday for the rest of the term – dealing with drunken patrons...and their waste. Without magic.

Tracey had gone spare.

Harry really wished he could sneak up to his dormitory right then to catch some sleep, but Flitwick's essay was due on Monday, and he really didn't want to sabotage his good relationship with the excitable Charms Master.

Resigned, he approached the hidden entrance to Slytherin's common room. 'Pater Familias,' he muttered, watching the hidden passage reveal itself.

The common room was unexpectedly packed with students – nearly three-quarters of the serpents seemed to be present, and – for the first time – the grand room with its elaborate mantelpieces didn't seem quite as forlorn.

'Hey, Harry. How'd it go with McGonagall?' asked Leo, raising a hand in greeting.

'Same as usual. What's the commotion about?'

Leo pointed towards one corner of the room, where a gaggle of girls containing Tracey, Daphne, and Amy were chatting with glee, taking turns to imitate someone holding their behind while crying like a baby.

'Well,' said Leo, shaking his head, 'some of the guys thought they'd stretch their legs – so to speak – and have a bit of a friendly game of Quidditch.'

'So?'

'Well, Draco was extremely vocal about being included. He wanted to recommend himself to Flint.'

'He wanted to show off, you mean.'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

'So? How did he do?'

'Oh, he did quite well. Until he subtly shifted his seating on his broom. Turns out, someone hexed it or something. He's currently down in the infirmary with, er, a lot of needles spelling the word "lecher" on his backside.'

Harry winced. 'Why didn't Flint just remove them?!'

'Well, they _did_ try that. But they're charmed to not come off, and Rosier said the wound showed symptoms of Doxxy poisoning.'

Harry's eyes flew towards Daphne and Amy. 'They – Merlin! – publicly inspected the, ahem, wounded area on the Quidditch pitch – with girls present?'

'I'm afraid so.' Leo nodded gravely. 'The whole event was pretty popular with a few of the girls. A lot of them had come to watch the boys play.'

'Bloody hell...' whispered Harry.

'Yeah,' Leo agreed drily.

'Well, at least I know what I'm going to get Draco for his birthday.'

Leo looked at him expectantly.

'Well, it'll probably require help and pointers from Aenor or Grandfather, but maybe I can make some progress with targeted Obliviations.'

Leo nodded seriously. 'That seems like a decent present right now.'

Both boys looked apprehensively towards the corner. The girls were still giggling, taking turns imitating Draco in varying displays of drama.

'Yeah. That really seems like a good idea,' repeated Leo again, nodding emphatically.

 _~BLVoD~_

The rest of the year was a hectic blur for Harry, who had to make up for the detentions he had to serve every weekend with many late night sessions. At least, as Tracey had remarked jokingly, Rosmerta had hinted with a big wink that she'd take them on if they flunked out of Hogwarts. This good-natured comment made Harry stay up even longer; he had no wish to become the first Lord Black to work in a pub, sweeping the floor and cleaning toilets.

In the end, he did reasonably well in Transfiguration and Astronomy. Herbology and Potions, however, turned out to be a disaster. The lack of sleep finally caught up with him, and he dozed off in the middle of the Herbology exam, all Leaping Toadstools happily escaping from his bucket. At least Professor Sprout let him sleep for the entire hour, levitating him into the corner and conjuring a blanket for him.

The Shrinking Solution Snape had set them to brew also required a delicate touch, but Harry, through bleary eyes, had stirred the cauldron too quickly. As a result, the potion that was supposed to be vivid green had turned into...

'Blue, Black! A deep, purplish blue!' Snape made a quick note on his board that looked suspiciously like a P.

Harry sighed, watching Daphne hover nervously next to her lime-green sample. Snape examined it carefully, giving it half a stir and sniffing it. He didn't say anything, which could only mean that Daphne, for a second year running, had performed perfectly.

He smiled at her, causing the girl to nod towards his own potion with a commiserative look.

Next to his cousin, Tracey had – much to the irritation and vitriol of their teacher – still outdone Harry. 'Black and orange stripes? Tell me, Miss Davis, can you read at all? Maybe we should assign you to the Hufflepuff class; they at least might feel enough pity to read the instructions aloud for your benefit.'

As soon as Snape's back was turned, Tracey stuck out her tongue.

'Detention!' said Snape icily. 'And if you do that again, Davis, I'll have you clean the cauldrons with that tongue of yours.'

Charms was a walk in the park, and even though Harry had never attended a single of Prewett's lessons, the History test was almost laughably easy. At least Harry thought so. Founding of the Wizengamot, Ministry departments, election periods – he'd learned all of that when he was six. Surely, anyone could beat this test! Looking around, he couldn't help but notice that many of his classmates seemed to be of a different opinion. Hermione was biting her quill in frustration, looking as if she was desperately struggling to recall her mother's birthday.

The Defence practical was plain weird. He and Aenor chatted for ten minutes until, with a surprised look at her clock, she told him that the exam was over.

'I've seen quite a few examples of your spellwork this year, Harry,' she said with a smile. 'I'll grade you fairly on what I saw.'

And while Hufflepuff – to nobody's particular surprise – won the House Cup, Slytherin at least came pretty close to winning the second, unofficial cup only the student body celebrated – the Cup of Shame.

Amy's unyielding determination to do as she pleased in combination with Harry's somewhat frequent outbursts and fights in the corridors had set the stage for an exciting head-to-head race between Gryffindor and Slytherin as to who would _lose_ the most points during the year. In the end, the Weasley twins did pull ahead by vandalising Snape's office, but it was a very close thing.

Harry found it hilarious that both twins, wearing formal robes and pompous expressions, came to shake hands with him and Amy in front of the entire school, congratulating them on their performance.

'Simply splendid, old chap,' praised Fred Weasley in a loud voice just before Dumbledore could officially start the End-Of-Year Feast, wringing Harry's hand for a third time, peering at him through a ridiculous fake monocle. 'Marvellous! We particularly applaud your ground-breaking and inspired decision to boycott our great-uncle's class. Future generations will, I am sure, look back at this historic moment with fondness. "That," they will say, "was when we all started to realise – why attend History at all?" We shall look forward to another worthy competition next year!'

Even Amy laughed along with all the rest.

Professor Prewett was not amused.

Hermione, who had been very cross with him for 'behaving very immature by sneaking out of Hogwarts', was nagging him for almost the entire course of the feast to finally show her his grades. Harry still had the report in his robes, deriving great pleasure from crumpling it every once in a while.

'You're at the top of the year, Hermione,' repeated Harry for what felt like the twentieth time. 'It even says so on your report.' Angrily, he mauled the document in his pocket again.

'All the same,' she said, looking petulant, 'I just want to see where I'm standing!'

Tracey, with a crouse grin, interrupted their conversation. 'You can do the Summoning Charm, can't you, Honey?'

Hermione, with a gleeful look of triumph, immediately rummaged for her wand. ' _Accio Harry's report!_ '

Harry stared expressionlessly back at her, his right hand almost lazily blocking her charm. Hermione's enthusiasm slowly made way for a glare. 'Show-off!' she muttered darkly.

Tracey, however, with a cry of triumph, snatched the parchment out of Harry's decidedly slower _left_ hand, now that he had been forced to use his right to cast the charm. 'Got you!'

Harry flicked his tongue angrily. Tracey was _really fast_ if she wanted to be.

'Just let it be, Harry,' said Leo compassionately. 'They'll find out sooner or later anyway.'

'Find out what?' asked Daphne.

'YOU GOT A P IN DEFENCE, HERBOLOGY, AND POTIONS, HARRY?' yelled Tracey, causing heads from across the hall to turn. Seeing his darkening expression, she added in a carrying voice, 'Er, just joking, everybody. He did, er, totally fine. Yup!'

Laughter broke out, and Fred and George Weasley could be seen raising their mugs in his direction again.

'Wait!' interjected Draco, his smile almost painfully wide. ' _You_ failed Defence, Harry?! That's hilarious!'

'Leave me alone,' responded Harry with annoyance, listlessly stirring his cup with a voiceless spell.

'Well, er, I guess that means I really did win?' asked Hermione, astounded.

'I told you _repeatedly_ that you won!'

'Yes, but, erm, well – I didn't really believe it, to be honest,' admitted Hermione with a sheepish grin somewhere between embarrassment and pride.

'How did you fail Defence, Harry?' asked Daphne seriously.

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'Actually,' added Mulciber from a few seats further down the table, 'Professor Rose let slip that Black performed the worst out of your entire year. All the Prefects were talking about it.'

'Great,' muttered Harry. 'Just great.'

 _Well, I guess my family_ did _force her to watch over me or die a gruesome death, but how was any of that_ my _fault?!_

Tracey's entire body was trembling with suppressed glee.

Amy, with a playful smirk, put down her fork. 'But, Tracey! You wouldn't want for Harry to steal the show, would you? Why don't _you_ show us your report?!'

Tracey gave a start, not-so-subtly shaking her head with a pleading expression directed at Amy.

'What do you mean?' asked Daphne. 'Tracey, you said you did okay!'

'Well, I couldn't help overhearing,' explained Amy with a smug smile directed at the desperately waving witch sitting to Harry's left, 'that – thanks to our very own Tracey – Professor Snape had to hand out the first T to a Slytherin in nearly a hundred years.'

'You promised not to tell!'

'I promised I wouldn't tell Harry,' said Amy, picking up her fork again. 'Luckily, it was Daphne who asked first.'

Everything leading to their departure was the usual, barely controlled chaos. On the positive side of things, at least the first years got out of their way when they saw Amy approaching the Hogsmeade station. Daphne, once more, managed to make him promise to attend her birthday again. To his surprise, however, he wasn't the only one she insisted on inviting during their traditional ride back. 'You will have to come too, Granger. That way, you can practise your social graces a bit before you make a fool of all of us next Yule,' she added in a small voice, shying away from Tracey's exuberant smile.

'Oh. Erm, okay,' replied Hermione, awkwardly. 'Thank you for having me.'

Harry followed their exchange with vague interested. He hadn't realised that Daphne and Hermione had actually started to get along during the year.

When the engine finally slowed down, and happily waving parents and siblings appeared outside their compartment window, even the boys left their luggage for him to bring along. Wondering when his friends had got the impression that he strove to be a suitcase-carrier, he levitated the stack of trunks out of the train, making sure to decorate Leo's and Draco's trunks with very prominent, pink unicorns.

Astoria, wearing an almost antique set of robes that was clearly meant to impress him, awaited him just outside the train, jumping to embrace him with a laugh. 'I'll come next year, too!' she squealed, excited like a puppy. 'You'll watch me being sorted, won't you, Harry?'

'Of course, I will,' he promised.

Astoria cheered and, obviously inspired by her older sister last year, placed a very shy kiss on his cheek before she vanished in the crowds, giggling madly at her own daringness.

Nonplussed, Harry scratched the back of his head, deciding that he should probably look for his grandfather as soon as possible before Tori decided to boast again. There was no telling what Daphne might do if she felt like she was outdone by her little sister...

 _~BLVoD~_

Arcturus closed his eyes and took a very long, conscious breath, allowing himself to sag into the leather armchair behind his desk. It was still difficult not to think of it as his father's desk. Here the man had plotted and conspired, bringing Britain's most notable family to the brink of extinction with his greed and delusions of controlling the Dark Lord.

This year too had been difficult, so very difficult.

On the one hand, there was his continuing efforts to rally as many European leaders as possible before it was all too late – on the other hand, there was the daily political struggle of his family. As of late, the voices complaining that he was entirely too satisfied with the situation in Britain grew louder and louder within his own family. And while all of that preoccupied his mind, Harry – the boy they'd rescued and made their own, his grandson – had stumbled from one catastrophe to the next.

Arcturus would never admit it, but the first time he'd _felt_ their ancient curse, the first time he'd seen the runes in the duelling chamber, he'd almost had a heart attack. With Bellatrix and a few others criticising his directions, he couldn't leave himself open to further attacks against his position which – to his regret – included playing by the rules and letting Harry redeem himself without his aid, at least ostensibly so.

With another calming breath, he poured himself a brandy. He was thankful that bit was over now.

Humming appreciatively, he touched an inconspicuous part of his desk. A long and thin drawer surfaced where only massive wood had appeared to be. Resting on a cushion of silk, half a dozen black cubes gleamed in the dark – two little depressions in the cushion were empty. With the utmost care, he placed the two cubes from within the folds of his robes into their rightful spots.

Bellatrix had done applaudably well, neither her own daughter nor poor Daphne had noticed the subtle compulsion. As promised, he would have to give her free rein with how she handled Harry – at least for now.

Not a sound could be heard as the secret compartment slid shut again, blending seamlessly with the grain of the wood.

It had been difficult, a lonely dance in a crowded ballroom, to steer Harry, to help him without even him realising, without the rest of the family suspecting. Arcturus was all for accountability, and he would do his best to impress that very lesson on Harry within the next two months, but expecting to have a fifteen-year-old overcome abominations that the very best of magic's proud history would rightly fear was beyond foolhardy. He could only hope that Harry realised that his entire victory was, from his perspective, a chain of fortunate events. If it all served to push him over the edge, to finally have him _win_ over his most glaring weakness, it would all be worth it.

Bellatrix had proven useful, so her little favour would be granted. His most important piece, however, had been another. Truly, he should be counting his lucky stars every day that made it possible for him to have a source within the department itself.

And lastly, 'Rose'. Yes, she too had been useful. But unlike the others, whom Arcturus had come to think of as carefully calibrated instruments, Rose was a charging bull in his orderly world of exact devices. He could steer her for a time, pave a way, have Harry walk in her wake perhaps, but he knew that, at some point in time, there would be the inevitable crash. He just needed to stall for a bit more time!

That Harry had caught Rose's interest was a happy development. Rose could teach Harry where Arcturus could not, and Harry would slow Rose where Arcturus – again – could not. Still, Arcturus and the woman both knew there were ways around the oath she had been forced to take. It would be a risk to push further. No, the rest would be up to Harry. It was paramount that Harry learned as quickly as possible, _especially Occlumency_ , and it was equally necessary to constantly remind him to keep his head and growing attachment in check.

Harry's magical education he would leave to Bellatrix and Rose. Preparing him for what to do with it, that would remain his privilege.

...and that included the following, harsh lesson about the reality of love and life.

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry knocked on the door of his grandfather's study.

'Come in, Harry.'

Making sure his appearance was in order, Harry opened the door. 'You asked to see me, Grandfather?' he said, bowing politely.

Arcturus smiled, indicating the seat in front of him. 'Take a seat, my son. How are you?'

'I enjoyed sleeping in again today,' returned Harry with a light-hearted grin. 'And it's good to be home.'

'It's good to have you home,' agreed Arcturus with a smile of his own. 'We need to talk, Harry.'

Harry involuntarily stiffened ever so slightly. 'Yes, Grandfather?'

Arcturus poured himself a small measure of brandy in a glass that already stood on his desk. 'You know I cannot apologise for this, Harry, but,' he looked up, setting down the glass, and gazing at Harry, 'you have my word that I have never lamented anything these past fifty years like I did letting you face those monsters without my help. I know you must have felt disheartened that I didn't explain it more, tell you where to go, what to do.'

Harry nodded tensely. 'Can we...talk about it now?'

Arcturus nodded. 'Of course, we can. You know our family dynamics _discourage_ independent action that reflects badly on the family as a whole, but now that you've absolved yourself in the eyes of everyone, nothing prevents me from being entirely open with you.'

'What was that letter about?'

Arcturus raised an eyebrow. 'I told you; you had two months to remedy the situation. It usually takes some time for Lethifolds to gain enough strength to enter our world. While I allowed you every opportunity to try and test yourself against your creations, I thought it prudent to set a time frame in advance. It was regrettable what happened in London, truly, and I doubt you would have wished for such a tragedy to repeat itself. Thus, I calculated a timespan in advance that was reasonably safe to only allow them the opportunity to roam free once – even should your actions result in their temporary defeat, as later indeed happened.'

Harry's mouth formed a silent 'Oh!'. After a second of hesitation, he asked, 'How much did you really help me?'

'Some,' admitted Arcturus carefully. 'Suffice it to say, my son, I did not judge it entirely reasonable to demand of you what most grown-ups would fail to achieve. But,' he said, still gazing directly at Harry, 'I have to impress on you the real magnitude and severity of your misjudgement, Harry.'

'I know,' returned Harry in a quiet voice, hanging his head.

His grandfather didn't continue, his stern eyes never leaving Harry's.

Harry, almost fidgeting, eventually confessed, 'I'm sorry for putting you and everyone in danger. I realise that I...let emotions get the better of me.'

Slowly, Arcturus nodded. 'You need to do two things. First, you need to make sure the same never happens again. Secondly, you need to find a way to repent. Not for me,' he added quickly, 'or even the family, but for yourself. Find a way to look forward without the past eating away at you. You've learned you have weaknesses, my son – we all have. But, given enough time and thought, even weaknesses can be turned into strengths. You can be rash, effervescent, too passionate. You also tend to act alone, despite really needing help. Harry, if you really want to prove yourself to the family, you need to _win_ – not to fail winning alone. The head of a family is still a member of a family; we aren't kings, ruling from some lofty throne in a palace. Nobody expects or will ever expect you to do everything alone, know everything, be everywhere. Not completely unrelated,' Arcturus finished, standing up, 'you need to finally overcome what happened ten years ago.'

Harry shrunk in his chair, humiliation rising from him like steam.

'I'm not speaking of what happened at Potter Manor,' clarified Arcturus. 'We have spoken about that, and you have my every confidence that – given time – you will overcome that shadow darkening your heart and past. No, I'm talking about your willingness to sacrifice yourself to prove your worth, your desperate measures to gain even the smallest edge for your family – to your own detriment. You, Harry, are part of this family. As such, it is only natural that you should look out for your own interests – otherwise, you weaken the family as a whole. And,' Arcturus said, motioning for him to stand up and follow him, 'as grateful as we all are that you are part of this, our family, you need to realise that sometimes you will be expected to make decisions that may affect a family member's future. You cannot let your past keep you from making choices. You are Harry James Black, my heir – not the small boy desperately wanting to belong. Act like it!'

Harry's stomach felt like it had been filled with stones. With a closed expression, Arcturus opened the door, holding it open for him.

'Where are we going?' asked Harry, subdued.

'The undercroft.'

Harry led the way in silence. 'You've spoken with Daphne about Dora.'

'Obviously.'

Harry's stomach almost turned. Even though the Tonks weren't exactly associated with the Blacks, mostly due to Andromeda's independent streak and her decision to marry a politically controversial Muggle-born, they were still _technically_ part of the family – even though not in any politically realistic or significant way. And even if you disregarded all that, Dora – especially Dora – was one of the people Harry had the fondest memories of during the early days of his stay with the Blacks.

Feeling apprehensive, Harry grabbed a torch, lit it, and – with an ominous creak he didn't appreciate right now – opened the door leading towards the oldest part of the mansion. His grandfather didn't say a single word.

Careful not to slip on the roughly worked stone, he made the slow descent into the ever-dark remnants of their family's past. Nearly twelve feet deep, dug in stone was the first level – and another twelve below that the other one containing, among other things, the ritual chamber only the main branch was allowed to enter. The torch hissed and spat angrily in the cool and damp air of the place one would be hard pressed to describe as anything but a dungeon.

'Where now?' he asked, his voice hoarse.

'The "guest room".'

A shiver ran down Harry's spine.

Puzzled and more than a little nervous, he navigated the narrow corridors, heading for the very same room Bellatrix had tried her damnedest to have him master the Unforgivables in.

'Extinguish the light and step aside, Harry,' commanded Lord Black behind him.

Harry doused the torch with a quick flick of his wand. It hissed at him again. Then, he respectfully stood aside.

Arcturus opened the room and waved his wand. Cold, clinical blue light fought against the oppressing darkness all around them, barely revealing his grandfather's face. Most of the room remained shrouded in shadows.

'Harry,' said Arcturus, his tone grave and formal. 'Tell me: what is it you feel for your family?'

'Love,' he replied immediately, feeling only slightly embarrassed.

'Could you ever perceive yourself to betray your family?'

'No!' he shouted, eyes widening in alarm.

'So does love protect you from betrayal?'

'Of course, it does! I could never harm any of us!'

'But you have, Harry. You have already... The world isn't black and white, my son. Even love can be dark, even love can turn people evil, even real, genuine love can be betrayed. Refusing to confront unpleasant realities can and, more often than not, _will_ result in further unpleasantness. And now, face the result of your indecisiveness, your unwillingness to choose.'

With a wave of his wand, the cold blue light flooded the entire chamber. Everything was as Harry remembered it to be: the smears of blood, the stench of darkness and malevolent magic of old, the ancient remains of chains and shackles.

But there was one exception.

Dangling in very extant chains from the far wall, bodily unharmed but clearly delirious, hung Nymphadora Tonks.

'NO!' yelled Harry, making to dash to the other end of the room.

Arcturus hand fell heavily on his shoulder, causing him to stumble. One second later, he felt his limbs freeze up by a spell of his Grandfather's.

'As you might recall, Harry, you were forced to take Nymphadora with you. You couldn't bring yourself to simply obliviate her, so your friends were forced to stow her in your cousin's trunk. But she knows, Harry. She knows.'

'Please don't kill her,' pleaded Harry submissively. 'Please, Grandfather, I beg of you!'

Arcturus inclined his head ever so slightly. 'What are you talking about, Harry? Wasn't it you who forced the issue? Wasn't it you who denied her mercy? You are the future lord of the Blacks! You made the decision that she wasn't to be obliviated. I respected your judgement. And now, here she is.'

'Please,' begged Harry, his grandfather's charm the only thing that kept him from throwing himself at the man's knees. 'Please!'

'The past few days, Nymphadora has been treated with some amount of care. Currently, she is heavily influenced by several truth serums. You need to hear this, Harry.'

'You drugged her?!'

'Of course. Would you take Veritaserum if I asked it of you?'

'Yes!' he answered automatically.

'Then why shouldn't the same apply to Nymphadora? If she is truly family, you need to demand an equal price of everyone, not just yourself. Don't apply double standards just because it's you!'

'Please!'

'Harry Black, listen and learn!' thundered his grandfather's voice.

Harry, not daring to breathe, watched with tears in his eyes as Arcturus approached Dora, waking her with a flick of his wand.

'Who are you?' demanded Arcturus in a harsh tone.

'...Nympha...dora Tonks,' answered Dora in a weak voice, eyes empty and dull.

'Of which family?'

'T...Tonks...'

Harry froze.

'Who is Harry Black?'

'My cousin, my li...my little brother in all but name,' she mumbled.

With a smile, a bit of warmth seemed to spread through Harry's limbs.

'Who is Arcturus Black?'

'A...distant relation...Dangerous...'

The warmth flowing through Harry's veins turned into biting ice, twisting the innocent smile on his lips into a grimace.

'And now,' said Arcturus with a grim expression, 'I want you to listen very carefully, Harry.' Turning his back on Dora, he spoke in a clear voice, still addressing the woman but his eyes resting solely on Harry.

'Do you love Harry as family, Nymphadora?'

'Yes...'

'Would you have betrayed Harry to your superiors?'

The coldness of uncertainty seeped into Harry's heart...

'Yes...'

...and all the colours in the world suddenly lost a bit of lustre.

'Why?' continued Arcturus mercilessly.

'What...they did was wrong...'

'Even though you love him as family?'

'...Yes...'

Arcturus, his grey eyes unmoving, started moving towards Harry. 'Would you betray your family, any family, if they were in the wrong in the eyes of those you swore to serve by profession? Even if that could result in their lawfully sanctioned deaths?'

'NO!' shouted Harry. 'Don't answer, Dora. DON'T!'

For a second, Harry hoped his words had reached her. But then her mouth moved with the same dull purpose, without any indication of her usual spark.

'Yes.'

Harry, mouth still open, gaped in horror at Dora. His heart, he thought, felt as if someone had taken a blunt and rusty knife to carve out some inner part.

...And one floor above them, in a room with a vast and magical family tree stretching over generations and generations, a name at the bottom began to sizzle, letters and even the picture of a young witch with a cheery, carefree smile slowly turning dead and unrecognisable...

 _~BLVoD~_

Harry entered the ancient room as soon as his grandfather was asleep, tasting the foul air, filling his lungs with the scent of blood and fear, eyes closed.

Night surged inside through the charmed window.

Three days. It had taken him three days to reach this point. Dora was still hanging from the chains one level above him, and Harry had been prohibited from seeing her. Arcturus had frankly admitted that Nymphadora _Tonks_ was a security risk for the family, and the most reasonable course of action would be her removal, to have her vanish along with all the other Aurors who had died at the Ministry.

But if – and only if – Harry could prove to him that he had completely overcome his weakness, he would allow her to leave, her memories modified, forced to swear an oath that would kill her even should she miraculously regain her recollections.

That was the reason for Harry being down here.

He'd been in the ritual chamber before, quite often, in fact. But only now that he had tasted the Lethifold's unique scent of power and dread did he truly understand the horror of this chamber and the nature of the wards protecting their house.

 _Find a way to make sure this never happens again..._

The ghost of his grandfather's words cavorting through his mind, Harry's almost dead-looking eyes inspected the softly fluttering curtains near the magical window, the squiggly, almost imperceptibly wandering, age-old runes covering the entire room.

Slowly, he knelt down, placing the silver bowl full of water in front of him and on top of a white tablecloth.

 _...make sure this never happens again..._

 _...kill the guilt, Harry..._

With blank eyes, he stared at the bowl until a sudden gust of cold air startled him.

 _'Thy heart dost tell falsehoods, young one. Thou must act with haste!'_

Slowly, he produced his wand, laying it carefully on top of the small basin, the tip pointing his way. Gripping the bowl with both hands, he closed his eyes, taking deep and calming breaths, looking inwards, searching...

Three hours later, Harry opened the door to his bedroom, feeling...strange. Different. At once somehow cured and somehow...fragmentary. It was peculiar, but he would have time to get used to this feeling – years, decades even.

Making sure he was truly alone, he barricaded the door, producing two phials. They were filled with a cloudy, shimmering substance. Harry felt nothing as he stared at the glass and the nebulous, softly swirling silver within. The memories were there, but the rest was static – grey and drab.

One phial was labelled 'London', the other 'Dora'.

The longer he stared at the phials, the more nagging the feeling at the back of his mind became, like an itch he couldn't reach, like a word he just couldn't remember. But that was it – there was no anger, no melancholy, no fear, and no lingering regret. Just...a pit.

For a second, Harry wondered why he'd gone to such lengths to save the woman. True, he didn't really want any more blood on his hands than necessary, but fiddling with his mind and emotions just to save an acquaintance from his past suddenly appeared...excessive, illogical.

With a shrug, he stuffed both unbreakable phials behind a row of books he hadn't moved in over five years.

 _Ah well, out of sight, out of mind. And now...there's only one thing left to do._

And some more time passed.

Harry sat in the library, a huge pile of blank parchment in front of him, another equally towering stack of notes at his side. The room was a sea of light, every surface awash with dim candles that, despite their sheer number, only served to spend more shadows than light, more smoke than clarity. Currently, he was fiddling with a heavy leather binding he'd poured as many charms into as he could – and quite a few curses too.

Carefully dipping the tip of his quill into the charmed ink, he moved the writing implement towards the very top of the first page.

'These,' he wrote, 'are the recollections of Harry James Black. Whoever may find this text, be warned to not make the same mistakes I did.'

He had worked on his notes for two weeks, and only now was willing to begin writing it all down in earnest. Harry had no way of knowing this, but the words he wrote were almost the same, letter for letter, as the lost introduction to another book still residing in his library, the very book from which he'd first learned about Lethifolds and the possibility to summon them, the one book in their library that had already claimed so many lives including its author and would, presumably, claim even more with its dark promises of power.

The title of his work, set in silver and written in regret, was:

A Veil of Death  
– Darkness and Blood –  
Ruminations and Observations on the Topic of Lethifolds

…

…

…

 _Epilogue_

Mr Jansen, fifty-nine, was believed by most to be a little weird.

He was an extremely confirmed bachelor, didn't own a car, didn't own a phone, grew his own vegetables, caught his own fish, and had surrounded his cabin in the woods with high fences covered in aluminium foil – to keep the _Visitors_ and their mind-controlling devices at bay. As an additional benefit, the highly reflecting boundary also served to blind any potential enemy within a few hundred yards when the sun stood low. The children from the village sometimes dared each other, trying to approach his cabin, but other than them, Mr Jansen's only social contact was the postman who came by every few weeks. But Mr Jansen could afford to show the postman some small amount of trust (even though he was employed by the government); he had taught him a secret password almost forty years ago – in case he ever was replaced by the _Visitors_. Also, it would be remiss to conceal it, the man happened to be his brother.

Mr Jansen liked solitude and independence. After twelve years of legal struggle, he had managed to deposit a substantial amount of money with an escrow who would pay for any accumulating taxes and dues. The procedure took twelve years because Mr Jansen dismissed twenty-three public trustees – on account of him suspecting them of belonging to the _Visitors_ – and sued both the state of his residence and the competent authority thrice.

Mr Jansen was an extremely suspicious man. He didn't trust strangers, the villagers, the pesky brats, and certainly not the government – or the weather forecast.

Yes, Mr Jansen was extremely suspicious – but he had reason to be.

Even though he owned one of the most remote plots of land in the area, put up signs warning of dangerous animals, dug pits, set up fences and even black powder charges all around his property – with the exception of the road after that little incident with the explosive ordnance disposal unit – he just _knew_ there were people up and about. Strange people, too.

Sometimes, he saw them; wearing outlandish outfits, speaking in _tongues_ , secret handshakes, all of that and more he had witnessed when he'd patrolled his property during the night, shotgun slung over his shoulder and night vision gear enhancing his sight.

Once or twice, he'd woken up in his bed with no recollection as to when he'd come back and without rearming the three secret pins he stuck between the door, the hinge, and the floor to check if any invisible intruders had entered his home in his absence.

It paid to be careful, and the aluminium foil did seem to keep those things in check, but you never knew.

Tonight, it was another normal nocturnal patrol for Mr Jansen, who – gun, machete, and home-made hand grenades at the ready – was about to finish his rounds near the northern border of his land when he heard a disturbance from within a few dozen yards ahead.

With practised ease, he let himself fall upon the soft forest soil, levelling the gun, hoping to finally catch that stupid raccoon that kept nibbling at his aluminium foil. He didn't move a muscle as he waited for the abominable trash panda to get between his cross-hairs.

'How much further is it, Boss?' asked one voice that was most definitely not a raccoon – probably. He hadn't heard of English-speaking raccoons yet, but he wouldn't put anything past the Illuminati or the Bilderbergers. Maybe it was a ploy.

'The clearing is just ahead. Be careful where you step; some kind of lunatic roams these parts and sets explosive traps.'

Mr Jansen allowed a complacent smile to appear on his tanned, weathered face. So they knew of him – good!

'I somehow imagined Nurmengard to be somewhere...grander,' opined a third, slightly disappointed-sounding female voice. Mr Jansen thought he could detect a faint Asian accent.

'It's a fortress – not a blasted fairy-tale castle! If you want to go on a sightseeing tour, I recommend the Rhine area.'

'Oh, thank you, sir!'

'Is the prison really still standing?' inquired the first voice. 'This place looks feral!'

'There's nothing feral here except a few wild boars,' replied the one Mr Jansen assumed to be the leader.

He wasn't right, of course. Pigs were easy enough to deal with – they messed up your garden every once in a while, but raccoons were the real nuisance.

'The place is still very much standing,' continued the leader, voice two. 'The ICW keeps a small detachment around the place – for security reasons, obviously.'

'Wait, Boss! You don't mean to say...Grindelwald is _actually still alive?!_ '

 _Grindelwald_ , thought Mr Jansen, producing a small notebook from within his military fatigues. _Wonder what kind of code that is_.

The three Visitors came to a sudden halt. He could actually _almost_ see them, just behind the next group of beeches, holding their strange wooden torches.

'This is top secret, Boris, and I mean _top_ secret. There aren't more than a hundred people alive privileged with that information. Even Ministers keep getting obliviated.'

'He's...not suddenly about to break out, is he?' asked the female Visitor.

Voice number two snorted scathingly. 'Of course not. He himself built this prison with the intention of holding wizards his equal. He's been here for more than forty years! It's perfectly safe, you'll see.'

The group started moving again.

Mr Jansen was about to follow when – most luckily – he decided to check the compass dangling from his neck. North-north-east – the place he had labelled the Forbidden Zone.

 _Figures_ , he thought. _Guess I'll have to wait._

In absolute silence, he waited for almost half an hour, still clinging to the faint hope of catching that cursed nightmare in grey and white. It didn't show up. But, as he had known they would, at least the Visitors returned all too soon.

'Well, that was a dead end,' said the first voice.

'Yes, everything seemed in order,' replied the female Visitor.

'In order, yes,' agreed the second voice dully.

'Guess we should be heading back? Check for other leads?'

'That does seem like a good idea. Also, sir, could you please point out which stretch of the Rhine exactly...'

The leader flicked his tongue, groaning as if he'd forgotten something. 'I get the vague feeling that something's amiss. Strange... Anyway, let's regroup for now.'

Three soft cracks like the surface of a frozen lake breaking later, and they were gone.

Mr Jansen nodded, underlining the words 'vanishing with a crack' in his booklet.

As was his standard procedure, he waited for one more hour and a random amount of minutes he always rolled three dice for before he vacated his hideout – in case of an invisible rearguard. You never knew.

Careful to back-pedal using his own trail, he arrived at his cabin at about 4 a.m. He checked his secret pins (no invisible intruders today – or at least none _that_ foolish), safely stored his gun away, sharpened his machete while noshing a bit of dry bread, and took a seat in front of his very sparse desk.

His desk was a matter of pride for Mr Jansen; every bit of evidence he'd ever gathered was aligned in such a way that it all made sense: The Illuminati, Chemtrails, the Bilderbergers, the Visitors – everything.

With a thoughtful expression, he added a new index card, provisionally labelling it 'English-speaking raccoons (?)'. After all, you never knew.

Then, he opened one of the thicker files (Visitors), carefully writing down his observations and the term freshly overheard, codeword 'Grindelwald'.

Reflectively, he stared at his files, particularly the pages devoted to the Forbidden Zone. Even Mr Jansen admitted that he was probably on the cautious side of things, but he really had good reason to be. It had all started with the Forbidden Zone. When he had been a young lad, he'd suffered from short-term memory loss the doctors couldn't explain. At first, he'd suspected the government. And while he still wasn't absolutely sure he wasn't right about that, he'd soon come to learn that, when he broke his leg chasing a wild sow from his potatoes almost forty years ago, his memory remained distressingly sharp for weeks and weeks.

The next few months, he'd carefully documented every change in his daily routine – from bathroom times to drinking habits – looking for anything that might have caused him to lose his memories. Finally, after suing the government over water pollution for a second time, he'd determined that his ramb- _forays_ into the surrounding forests were to blame.

It took him a further three years to carefully map the area which caused him to wake up in his bed with a blurry feeling in his head. He was a bit embarrassed it had taken so long, but the migraine caused by the secret and purposeful air pollution the government organised as well as his medication complicated matters. The result, in the end, was the Forbidden Zone, a quadrant of no more than a hundred hectare.

And since Mr Jansen was such a suspicious man, he'd tried for years to find out what really went on in there. Ultimately, a complicated construction including some six dozen mirrors, a few objective lenses that had cost him more than one hundred twenty troy ounces worth of pure gold, and a professional single-lens reflex camera had yielded the desired result.

Scratching his impressive beard, Mr Jansen stared down at the photo of a ruined castle keep overgrown by vegetation. With a nod, he pencilled the word 'Grindelwald (?)' above the picture.

Yes, Mr Jansen was widely regarded as being a little weird, but he thought he still had it better than most. That so many strange people in long cloaks came to visit some crumbling pile of rubble in the middle of a forsaken forest only to leave with vaguely confused expressions some ten minutes later was more than just a little weird. Some people evidently didn't know what to do with their time. Maybe it was some kind of alien memorial? Or maybe they were all lured by some cheap, foreign travel guide book? Some people would believe anything, after all.

He gave a jerk as it suddenly hit him: it didn't make any sense at all – it was all a hoax, a diversion! With a grim grin confident of victory, he vowed to increase his patrols on the southern part of his plot starting tomorrow.

Nodding contentedly, he put down the pencil, rearmed the chemical trap protecting his documents, and went to bed.

Maybe he'd catch that blasted raccoon tomorrow.

 _Black Luminary – A Veil of Death_

 _fin_


	47. ML: Tinker, Tailor

_**AN:** And we're back in action!_

 _Hiya, lads and lasses! Hope you've been doing okay? As you might have noticed, it took a little while longer for me to get my act together. In my defence, I might also add that it usually takes me about a week to finish a single chapter. In that sense, a few months weren't exactly unexpected. Anyway, the third year has presented me with a rather unique challenge: too much stuff had to happen. In the end, I think I did reasonably well, streamlining the plot and smoothing out the edges._

 _Before we finally start, a few short announcements._

 _On a personal note, I've released a short story (~20k words) called ' **Things you cannot leave behind'** earlier this year. I'm quite enamoured of the concept, and I did my best to do it justice. I think it turned out well, which is why I'd invite you to give it a shot. Please tell me what you think!_

 _As previously promised, I'll be releasing one chapter a week for the remainder of the book – unless I get sick again. This'll help understanding, I hope._

 _One last time, I'd like to call attention to the fact that this work is meant to address an audience of some maturity. I know you all made it through the sacking of London, and while I generally dislike crassness, I would like to caution the reader one last time that they should expect mature and less than pleasant topics. This really isn't a fairy-tale, and you're bound to get angry if you expect it to be one._

 _The first few chapters are, once more, mostly a very light read, but there's a lot of important information hidden in what appears to be light-hearted slice-of-life._

 _Cheers,_

 _ **AN2:** Have a close look at the dates or you might get confused._

* * *

 **Black Luminary – Memory Lane**

 _Prologue – June 1997_

Alice Longbottom wrinkled her nose. The stench of germicide permeated the air, soaking her clothes and – or so she felt – her skin. Ever since the birth of her son, she'd had a rather severe aversion to the smell of hospitals – Muggle or magical. As far she could tell, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the Royal London Hospital, but the scurrying nurses, grouchy patients, and cold corridors made for an inhospitable environment. Given enough time, she was sure such company would make anyone sick.

She would have been glad to delegate the duty that had brought her here, but it wouldn't have felt proper, so she had decided to come herself after all. She owed them that much. She drew her overcoat tightly around herself as if to ward off the cool, infectious atmosphere of barely alleviated suffering.

Echoes of laughter, so out of place, caused her to turn around. Dashing in her direction were a young boy and a girl, no more than eight years old, giggling, closely followed by an exasperated and rather portly nurse who was trying and failing to keep up.

'No running! Joshua, Emily, please!'

The girl had her arm in a sling. The boy, on the other hand, looked superficially healthy – if a bit weak, wan. There was a thin film of sweat on his brow, and Alice could see that the exertion pained him underneath the bravado he feigned to compete with the girl. Stealing a glance to make sure there weren't too many onlookers, she 'accidentally' stepped right into the boy's way at the last second.

'Oof!' With a muffled yell, the boy collapsed at her feet – almost comically bouncing off her.

 _He's so light,_ thought Alice sadly. _Skin and bones ..._

'Oh, I'm ever so sorry, dear,' she said in a worried tone, kneeling down to have a look at him. 'Are you all right?'

'My nose ...!' cried the boy, tears in his eyes.

The girl, coming to a screeching halt, looked suspiciously at her, but Alice merely smiled. 'There, there.' Making sure the chubby nurse was still out of earshot, she winked at the boy. 'Do you want to see a magic trick?'

'W-what?' he asked.

With her left forefinger, she flicked the boy's reddened nose – just as she flicked the wand in her pocket with her right hand. 'Pain, pain, go away!' chanted Alice in a dramatically hushed voice.

'Ow! That hu-' The boy stopped mid-cry. Bewildered, he looked at her, disbelievingly rubbing his nose and then – eyes practically popping out – his chest.

Puffing and blowing, the nurse finally arrived. 'Thank you, ma'am. He didn't trouble you, did he? He's a troublemaker, all right, that one. Escapes from the ward every other day.'

Alice smiled kindly. The boy stared at her in awe. Already, he didn't look quite as sweaty and pale. 'Oh, no! It was no trouble.'

'Apologise, Joshua!'

'Sorry, ma'am,' said the boy with the mischievous grin of the unrepentant prankster.

Alice stood up. 'Don't worry about it, dear.' Waving one last time, she turned around, humming under her breath, remembering how often she and Frank had got into trouble back in the day. Admittedly, their little exploits had gone mostly unnoticed thanks to some of their fellow Gryffindors who had kept Minerva on her toes day and night. Those were the days; life had been so simple back then.

Eventually, her silent reminiscing came to a halt in front of a family ward. Casting a very inconspicuous little Muggle-repelling charm on the door, she knocked and smartly stepped inside.

The parents were asleep. The girl, however, was wide awake, her head buried in some Muggle book, devouring the text in a way that – with a twang of guilt – reminded her of Neville happily brooding over some gardening instructions.

Hearing the clicking of the door, the girl looked up at her through her long mane of brown hair. 'Hello,' the young woman said politely. 'We haven't met, have we? Are you the specialist they were going to call in? Should I wake Mum and Dad?'

And Alice's heart sank.

* * *

 **Tinker, Tailor** _or_ **A plethora of late visitors**

 _July 1996_

The current Auror commander of the ICW moaned, tugging the damp and blessedly cool towel back over his eyes. His temporary office in Britain had undergone some drastic changes; the wide, luxurious windows had been bricked, the doors and walls were plastered in egg cartons and silencing charms, and – most importantly – he'd delegated all his paperwork and given orders not to be disturbed by anything less than a full-blown catastrophe.

The hustle and bustle of rowdy coppers had been turned into a fortress of soothing silence.

With extreme care, Antonius reached out to lift a glass of icy water, trying not to produce any sound whatsoever. Fumbling blindly in his pockets with his other hand, he produced a handful of white pills, dropped them into the water, and chugged it all.

His headache was killing him.

For a few weeks now, he'd been suffering from the worst migraine imaginable. Healers, doctors, and all the other physical specialists he had access to were helpless. It got worse whenever he started thinking back to what could have triggered such a strange reaction, so he'd temporarily given up, resigned to the damnable pain. It had to blow over at some point, after all.

There was a loud knock from downstairs, causing Antonius to wince, hissing and massaging his temple.

The knocking was immediately followed by bossy shushing sounds. Thankfully, Antonius wasn't able to overhear the ensuing conversation. The makeshift sound insulation did that at least, though it did little to nothing to keep him from hearing the murmuring. He could, of course, silence the door, but since he was still _technically_ at work, he couldn't just shut himself in completely.

There were footsteps climbing the stairs leading to his office. Antonius grimaced. _This better be important ..._

Antonius lifted one corner of the towel to peek at the entrance of his office. The door swung open with enthusiastic gusto, revealing not – incidentally – one of his subordinates but the amused visage of one Rendall Prewett.

'What's this?! What's this?!' the man barked, giving a booming laugh. 'Been drinking too much? You're getting too old, my friend!'

'What do you want?' growled Antonius – not because he didn't appreciate his current company but because he didn't appreciate the sound intensity said company all but guaranteed.

'Your little Japanese minion said you were under the weather, but you look like you've been under a herd of Thestrals!'

Antonius gripped his desk so hard his knuckles whitened. Rendall Prewett couldn't lower his voice to save his life. 'Yes, and what is it that you want again?'

Rendall grinned, casually swinging one of the chairs in front of the desk around and taking a seat, leaning his body forward against the chair-back. 'I need to ask you a favour.'

'If it'll get you to shut up, I'll gladly consider it …'

'I need you to dig up dirt.'

'On whom?'

'Harry Black.'

Slowly, the towel slid off Antonius' face. He squinted through bloodshot eyes at the political powerhouse in front of him. He had to remind himself that his friend really was just that – albeit a powerhouse with the grace and subtlety of one of those Muggle bulldozers.

'Listen here, Rendall,' he said, speaking slowly. This little interjection was seemingly enough to mar the man's jovial smile, giving it a touch of disappointment and impatience. It was ridiculous how easy to read he was. If not for the Longbottoms, he'd never be where he was. 'I'm currently not at my best.' For emphasis, he waved the moistened towel. 'And you're asking me to stick my head into a Doxy nest? Far be it from me to comment on what you and your friends are trying to do here in Britain, but haven't you learned anything from last time?'

Rendall flicked his tongue angrily, jumping up in agitation. 'You don't understand! You don't know how it was just a few decades ago; the old pure-bloods could basically get away with murder.'

At this point, Antonius carefully refrained from commenting that his vis-à-vis was likewise the descendant of a very old pure-blood family.

'I'm not going to let that happen again,' Rendall continued irritably. 'I know that little brat was at the Ministry. Dumbledore knew too! Whyever the man decided to let it slide, I can't even begin to … Just because it all worked out shouldn't mean the Blacks are allowed to get away with it!'

Antonius felt the heat rise in his head, accompanying the pain with a surge of fury. _It had all worked out?!_ He could still vividly remember Torres and Williams, both executed with the most detestable of curses. But he swallowed his anger; it wouldn't achieve anything with the man in front of him. 'Even so, what are you going to do about it? I've told you already we couldn't find any traces. Someone did a good job sweeping the place, and you can bet it wasn't a Black – even if he was there.'

Antonius also severely doubted that a fifteen-year-old could overwhelm his Aurors, spewing Unforgivables like it was nothing.

Rendall, predictably, was neither convinced nor pleased. 'What the bloody hell gives you that idea?!'

'Because it was artfully done.' Seeing the man's dismissive scowl, he added, 'I'm serious, Rendall. That was the work of a professional criminal or Auror – I'll let the judges puzzle over the difference. It couldn't have been the boy, no matter how advanced he is for his age.'

'You don't know him as I do! When he was younger, he was discouraged from learning magic so he could grow up with all the rest at Hogwarts.'

Antonius managed to refrain from retorting that this particular measure more than likely had also served to make it easier to control the child. 'Your point being?' he said in a bored voice.

'He shouldn't have known anything about magic! And _still_ the maids found him fiddling with charms in the library.'

'The boy is talented, Rendall. That's no crime.'

'So you say,' replied the Auror-turned-teacher nastily.

Antonius' patience, however, was waning – mostly because his headache was not. 'Then what the hell did you expect?' he spat sharply. Rendall gave a start, taken aback by his outburst. 'You've been forcing him into a corner ever since his parents died! And what have you got to show for it? You lost a talented, influential wizard in the making to your most troublesome adversary. You fools, have you ever actually thought of approaching the boy?! You knew his parents, didn't you?! Weren't Alice Longbottom and his mother best of friends?!'

'It's far too late for that sort of nonsense now. The boy will never trust us.'

Antonius snorted, leaning back again, placing the towel gingerly over his eyes. 'Nor should he if he's got any sense at all.'

Rendall, by the sound of it, had started to pace in front of his desk. 'It could still have been the old fossil.'

'No, it couldn't have been him,' replied Antonius wearily. 'I _told_ you; that was the real Arcturus Black with us at Hogwarts. He couldn't be in two places at the same time, which – if they really were involved – might well have been one of the reasons for his personal attendance in the first place! It wasn't the boy, and it wasn't the old man. Ergo, it wasn't the Blacks. Aren't you just upset the boy one-upped you with that gossip?'

His guest came to a stop. For a few seconds, Antonius didn't hear a thing, but then his old comrade spoke in a lower, more pressing voice. 'It's not only the two of them.'

Antonius frowned, lifting one corner of the towel once more. 'What do you mean, it's not only the two of them?'

'Branch families.'

Antonius stared at the man. Slowly, the towel slid off his face again. It fell to the floor with a sad little flop. 'When you say branch families, do you mean ...?'

'Yes! Magical, hereditary blood contracts of servitude.'

Antonius grimaced. 'How many?'

'We don't know.'

'Approximately?'

'Really, we haven't got a clue. From what we can tell, there were some leads and tells on a few of them, but the _Recondebamus Familias_ effectively prevents us from doing any meaningful research.'

'How can you be sure, then?'

There was the sound of someone cracking his knuckles in anger. 'My wife,' growled Rendall, trembling with fury.

Antonius stared at the man. After a few seconds, he asked, not unkindly, 'Lucretia? What about her?'

'She was _commanded_ to assassinate me!' screamed Rendall, a vein on his forehead bulging.

Alarmed, Antonius stared at the man he'd known for decades. He'd never quite understood where all that frothing anger directed at the Blacks came from but now … 'How can you be sure?'

Rendall roared with rage, swiping the desk lamp off his davenport. It crashed into the far corner of the room, precious crystal flying everywhere. Antonius serenely ducked out of the way of a few shards.

'DON'T! DON'T TELL ME I'M WRONG!' Rendall stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving. After one or two seconds, he clenched his fists, collecting himself enough to speak. 'I knew Lucretia from the time I was five. FIVE! I knew her better than I ever knew myself. Can you imagine waking in the middle of the night with the love of your life standing above you, knife raised to strike, tears streaking down her face?'

Antonius shook his head. He doubted any man could imagine what that must have felt like.

'She couldn't do it!' Randal's voice was breaking, yowling. 'She couldn't allow herself to do it, and the exertion of fighting the curse nearly ripped her in twain! I had to kill her! I had to kill my own wife, or the curse would have torn her soul in two! And do you know what she said?'

Antonius shook his head once more, but Rendall was barely paying him any attention anyway.

'Dying in my arms, smiling at me, she said, that she was glad … Glad! I'll never forgive my esteemed _father-in-law_ ,' spat Rendall, hitting the wall of Antonius' office with enough force to rattle the floor. 'I'll see that family extinct for what they did to my wife! I'll see them all finished!'

For a few seconds, Antonius allowed his thoughts to catch up to the situation. 'I'm really sorry,' he said – and he meant it. 'But you know how it is. Investigating the Lethifolds was a direct order. I can bend the rules a bit, but I can't just dive head first into Britain's proverbial nest of snakes just because you're personally convinced of their guilt. Believe me, I want to catch the madman who killed my people as much as anyone, but–'

Rendall's patience, however, seemed to have reached its limits. 'I get it. If you won't help me, I'll find others who will!'

Without another word, the man yanked at the door with enough force that one of the hinges came off, stamping down the staircase.

Antonius stared wordlessly after the man, one hand slowly opening a drawer of his desk. A handful of crystal shards glittered within, not unlike those of a phial perhaps, resting upon a cushion. With a frown, he closed the drawer again, offhandedly picking up his towel. 'Don't stare too long into the abyss, my friend …'

 _Memory Lane_

Esmerelle Greengrass rapped smartly on the dark, heavy oaken portal. The knocker, standing in stark contrast to the black, rustic wood, gleamed and twinkled softly.

She scoffed. Why, it wasn't even gold – just polished, charmed brass. Typical! For a handful of seconds that felt like an eternity, she stood uncomfortably in front of the entrance to Selwyn Manor. She didn't like being here. Oh, who was she kidding, she _despised_ being here, and she dearly hoped nobody could see her lurking in the shadows of the bleak door with its ugly granite gargoyles looming threateningly over any oh-so-unlikely visitor of the Selwyns.

Eventually, the portal opened with an ominous creaking, causing Madame Greengrass to scoff again. Was this charade supposed to intimidate visitors?

An elf clad in pathetic rags that fluttered loosely on her skinny body tried to bow politely whilst struggling with the heavy door.

'Evenings, Madame!' it squeaked.

'You will tell your master that Esmerelle Greengrass wishes to have a word.'

'Is– Is Madame having an appointment?' asked the elf timorously.

Madame Greengrass glared. The audacity! 'I've got one _now_.'

The elf gave a flinch, waving her inside with a low bow. 'Refreshments,' she squeaked, pointing towards a small suite with a bar of spirits and wine. 'If Madame would be liking to take a seat, Topsy will be informing Master immediately.'

The head of House Greengrass didn't respond, stalking over to the small bar without another look at the dirty creature. She gave the assortment of spirituous beverages a cursory glance but even a week-long trek through the Sahara couldn't have tempted Madame Greengrass to have a taste. She trusted her host about as far as her advanced age would allow her to throw him. But right now, she didn't have much to lose.

'Ah, Esme.'

Madame Greengrass turned around. Leaning confidently against the frame of one of the many doors leading from the foyer to the chambers beyond stood a raw-boned man in his late fifties. His unnaturally straight hair that almost reached the small of his back was hoary, but his sharply cut deep black goatee stood in stark contrast to the sallow skin of Zadie Selwyn. And the teeth! While other people only opened their mouth to speak or smile, snarling toothily was Zadie Selwyn's state of being. Madame Greengrass had often thought how the man looked like a greying, superficially benign wolf. Even at his now noticeable age, he retained his powerful frame and toned muscles.

She clenched her fists. 'Zadie.'

The man smiled, baring his teeth and indicating for his guest to take a seat. Without so much as offering her something, he rummaged at the bar, fixing himself what looked like three scotches in a single glass.

'What brings you here?' he said, taking a seat opposite her. 'Catching up for old times' sake?'

Madame Greengrass scoffed. 'Don't flatter yourself. I'm here to get reassurance.'

'Reassurance?' The man grinned again, his pointy, blindingly white teeth shimmering with the light of the candles.

'Yes.' Without further ado, Esmerelle Greengrass produced a parchment from within her clutch, holding it out for the man to accept.

Her host tilted his head. Eyes steadily narrowing, he skimmed the parchment. Then, he looked up, his beady eyes narrow and cold. 'Explain!'

'No, take it or leave it. But I'll say this much; I have a bad feeling about the state of Britain. I haven't heard as much as a word from my daughter about the family business – or my granddaughters. Even that brat the old charlatan adopted hasn't put up a significant fight. The man himself lost seat after seat in the Wizengamot, and what does he do? Nothing! I don't like it, I don't like it at all – it's as if the Wizengamot and his political weakness won't matter in the long run.'

'And so you come to _me_?' jeered Zadie maliciously. 'Why not go to your best friends? Surely the Ministry would be willing to give you, what did you call it, "reassurance".'

'No. You and I both know that it's unwise to store all your Galleons in one vault – especially with the Blacks still around. My great dislike for you is common knowledge. I bank on it.'

'Ah, reversed expectations. How … quaint. But I'll have you know that my own plans are progressing very smoothly indeed. Everything's on track! Seven Hells, I've even come to an agreement with the Rosiers at last; they'll throw themselves in with us during the next Wizengamot session.'

'The Rosiers?' repeated Esmerelle Greengrass, genuinely taken aback. So far, that particular clan of pure-bloods had remained outside of the political arena, watching it all play out from afar. The Ministry, as well as Longbottom and their pet idiot, had done their best to woo them into an alliance. The Rosiers were filthy rich – and magical Britain needed money. Over the years, certain pure-blood clans had hoarded gigantic amounts of wealth, and slowly but surely, they bled the rest of them dry. The head of the Rosiers, the old crone they called the Fuming Devil, had rebuffed them all until now – quite rudely, too.

'Yes,' said Zadie smugly, treating himself to another scotch. 'What worries you so?'

'In all my years, the Blacks have never laid low for so long. It's … unnatural! They know something we don't. I'm just here to make sure nothing "unfortunate" happens to me or my family.'

'And you're willing to gamble so much?'

'It's just money,' said Madame Greengrass snidely.

'It's _all_ of your money,' Zadie corrected her.

'And what do I care?' she spat. 'You'll only get it if something happens to me or my family. In that case, the name of Greengrass is finished either way! My daughter doesn't have the spine to meddle with politics, and my granddaughters are still head over heels into their puerile childhood obsession. If something happens to me, I want the Blacks to pay by hook or by crook – even if I have to pay _you_ of all people to make it happen!'

 _Memory Lane_

Somewhere else entirely, near the centre of London City, one of those girls with their 'puerile childhood obsession' was trying her hardest to ignore the persistent calling of her mother.

'Are you up yet, sweet pea?'

Daphne Greengrass blinked through droopy eyes. She cherished sleeping in on her holidays, but – to her annoyance – her mother and her boisterous sister both seemed to be conspiring to keep her from her well-earned beauty sleep. It wasn't even eleven in the morning yet!

She sighed, rolling around again and drawing the blanket over her head.

'Daphne!' called her mother again. 'Tracey's coming in two hours, and I need you to do a bit of shopping for me in the city.'

'I'm getting dressed already!' shouted Daphne reproachfully, her voice muffled by the fluffy blanket. She stretched her arms, suppressing a yawn. Maybe it wasn't too much to hope for that she'd at least have the time for some Potions experiments later.

Fifteen minutes after her mother's third call, she entered the kitchen.

'I really, really, really hope I'll make Slytherin,' said Astoria as if it were a matter of life and death. Daphne yawned again. Her sister just wouldn't shut up about the Sorting. It had been like that all summer. 'But do you think Harry will still talk to me if I don't?' Astoria persisted fretfully.

Their mother rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. 'Of course, he will, Sweetheart. Oh! There you are, Daphne.'

'Morning,' said Daphne with a little wave, taking a seat next to her sister. Leisurely, she contemplated what to eat (and, more importantly, what to avoid).

'You'll have to hurry it up a bit,' said her mother, pointing her wand to fold some clothes.

'What?' asked Daphne groggily.

'The groceries, remember?' said her mother. 'Honestly …'

'Can't Astoria do the shopping?' grumbled Daphne, reluctantly choosing an apple and ignoring all the delicacies. Her stomach growled at the meagre meal, but she still wanted to fit into her dress come her birthday.

'No way!' yelled her sister so loudly that Daphne had to hold one hand protectively over her left ear. 'I've got to go to Diagon Alley! I've got to! We're going, aren't we? You promised, Mum!'

'And we're still going, dear,' said her mother with an exasperated smile. 'You'll have the rest of the day free, Daphne. But I'll have my hands full getting Astoria a new wand, trunk, and everything. You can come with us and help carry it all if you want.'

'No, thanks,' said Daphne with a snort.

For a few seconds, Ophala Greengrass needlessly tugged at a few perfectly ironed robes. 'While we're on that subject, I need to talk to you – to the both of you – this evening.'

Daphne narrowed her eyes suspiciously. 'Gran isn't trying to marry us off again, is she?'

Her mother faltered, surprised. 'What? Oh, no, nothing of the sort, don't worry. That's all over and done with.' She tugged at the robes again, avoiding Daphne's inquiring look.

'Well? What is it, then?'

'This evening, love.'

'I want to know, too!' protested Astoria. Frowning deeply, her gaze flickered from her older sister to her mother and back again. 'It's got nothing to do with me going to Hogwarts, does it?'

Her mother looked up, smiling at her daughters. 'This evening, Astoria,' she repeated patiently. 'That's the list of what I need you to fetch, Daphne.' She put a small note next to Daphne's plate, wordlessly loading her eldest daughter's plate with a few grilled tomatoes and three huge scoops of scrambled eggs.

'Mum!' whined Daphne, ignoring her sister's sniggering.

'Don't argue! You're slender enough.' With a smile at Daphne's sceptical expression, she kissed her daughter on the cheek, nuzzling her hair. 'Finish all of that and please hurry – do the groceries with Tracey if you must, but we really need Floo Powder; we're running low again.'

'All right, all right,' replied Daphne listlessly, rolling one of the tomatoes that had been forced on her plate this way and that way. Astoria sniggered again.

'Astoria, dear, you _are_ ready, aren't you?' called their mother from the door. 'We'll be leaving in half an hour.'

Daphne's little sister jumped up. 'But I haven't even finished breakfast yet!'

'Half an hour,' repeated Ophala. 'Better hurry it up, young lady.'

In the end, Daphne took her sweet time regardless. Her mother suspiciously sneaked a peek into the kitchen every now and then, presumably to check if her daughter really did eat more than some fruit. As soon as Daphne finished, she put the dishes in the sink, stretching once more. Now she could tackle whatever the day might throw at her.

'Daphne, please – the shopping!'

'Mum, don't nag,' she said in a whinging tone. 'I'll go together with Tracey; we can do some window shopping while we're at it.'

It was perfectly possible to get everything Muggle London, Paris, and Madrid offered combined in Diagon Alley, but Daphne, having been introduced to the concept of window shopping by her best friend, took great joy from looking at and touching all the different merchandise in a comfortable environment. It also helped that Muggle money was so cheap. Tracey, who didn't have quite as much endurance for shopping, often spoke of that fateful day of inducting Daphne into the Sisterhood of Window Shopping as her 'one great regret'.

Daphne had a shower, brushed her hair for ten minutes, and racked her brains about what to wear until she settled on a simple, snugly fitting forest-green sundress.

Astoria, who had been busy pestering their mother for more pocket money, poked her head into her room at some point.

'You want to wear _that_?!' she asked, glaring enviously at Daphne.

'It's rather nice, isn't it?' said Daphne earnestly, twirling playfully in front of her large mirror.

Astoria scowled, her eyes flickering from her sister's rather voluptuous figure to her own measly front. 'I hate you,' she said conversationally, blowing a raspberry and making a face at her. 'We're leaving! Tell Tracey I said hi!'

Tracey arrived through the Floo ten minutes later – ahead of schedule, as always. She was wearing simple and plain anthracite-grey robes that, together with her thick, ashen hair, made her, more than ever, look less like a wallflower than a mouse – or possibly a chimney sweeper.

Her best friend, too, was goggling at her outfit while she was dusting herself down. Daphne wondered why she even bothered; she loved Tracey to death, but in her current outfit, the difference between soot-covered and clean was debatable at best.

'Hey. Er, say, are we going somewhere? Like, to a meeting with your new secret lover or something?' asked Tracey, nodding meaningfully at Daphne's dress.

'Mum wants me to get her some stuff, so I thought we might have a look at some things in the city.'

'You mean squander your allowance,' corrected Tracey astutely.

Daphne smiled. 'Well, yes.'

'Fine by me, but I didn't even go Muggle!'

Daphne shrugged. 'We'll rectify that!' Dragging her best friend towards the upper floor. 'Come on! You can borrow some clothes.'

Tracey moaned, but Daphne didn't let up. Tracey let herself go far too often – she didn't even try! _Well, not today._

One hour later, Tracey's patience was already wearing thin.

'Enough!' she snapped, glaring at Daphne, who was highly entertained. 'I'll go with the blue shirt!'

'That's azure – not blue.'

'Yes, fine, whatever. I'll go with the _azure_ shirt. Happy?'

Daphne simply smiled. 'It's you who doesn't look too thrilled. What's up? You can't honestly tell me you _want_ to go to town wearing that floorcloth.'

Tracey stuck out her tongue, cutely huddling against her robes. 'They're comfy!'

'I'm sure they are,' said Daphne, rolling her eyes.

'And … and it's _embarrassing_ that I have to borrow your little sister's clothes!'

'To be fair, they fit you pretty well.'

'That's exactly what I mean,' said Tracey with a nasty scowl. It might have looked off-putting, but – as it were – Tracey's face wasn't made to express something as serious as contempt. Daphne thought she looked like she was about to sneeze. It made Daphne want to cuddle her.

'I'm sure Astoria won't mind. Oh, she asked for you to remember her, by the way.'

Tracey sighed ruefully. 'Give her my love. Well, all right, but I'll be wearing _my_ shoes.'

Daphne looked at Tracey's worn trainers, biting her lip.

'What?!' said Tracey defensively.

'Nothing.'

Tracey groaned, throwing herself onto Astoria's bed and pummelling the pillow. 'Fine, shoes, too! But I'll be wearing my jeans, capisce?!'

 _Memory Lane_

'Look at that!' squealed Daphne happily. 'That handbag's so cute, don't you think?'

Her best friend sat at the reading area of the department store, one girl next to about a dozen exasperated husbands and boyfriends, all of them (Tracey included) reading some magazines about cars.

'Yes, dear,' said Tracey without looking up.

'You aren't even looking!'

'No, it's wonderful, dear,' said Tracey in that same calm, hollow tone again. 'You should totally get that one. It'll go great with that one dress of yours.'

A few of the middle-aged men chuckled, and one of them grinned at Tracey, muttering something under his breath. Tracey laughed but shook her head.

'What was that?' asked Daphne suspiciously.

'I just had to clarify that we're _not_ married and that I'm _not_ paying for your shopping.'

'Lucky you,' mumbled the hassled-looking gentleman who sat next to Tracey. He was out of breath, three bulging bags filled to the brim with clothes in each hand.

Daphne scowled but – in the end – continued to fawn over the merchandise regardless. For some reason she couldn't comprehend, their two-hour stop at the lingerie-store had apparently been too much for Tracey, who couldn't see the point of 'tarting oneself up when it's supposed to be dark anyway'.

'Blimey! Daphy, come here a second!'

Curious, Daphne looked up, reluctantly letting go of the fine leather strap. 'What's up?'

'Isn't that Hermione over there – with Draco?!'

It was Granger and, most mysteriously, Malfoy. They sat opposite each other under a huge parasol, seated among all the other Muggles. Granger was enjoying a humongous sundae. Malfoy, looking uncomfortable with the loudly chatting Muggles in the café, was stiffly sipping coffee.

Daphne gasped. 'You– You don't think they're on a date, do you?'

Tracey turned her head, looking at her with something akin to pity. 'Daphne, that's Draco we're talking about. D-R-A-C-O! Close your eyes and tell me you can imagine Draco dating a Muggle-born.'

'Shhh!' Daphne threw a nervous look in the direction of the Muggle men, but, unbidden, the image of Draco, wearing pompous robes and a smug expression, waving from a cabriolet in front of a church materialised in her mind. 'That'd be really weird,' she said with a laugh.

'Exactly. Should we go over?' asked Tracey, sounding a little too eager for Daphne's taste.

'I don't know …' said Daphne, casting longing looks in the direction of the handbags.

'Oh, come on! Enough of that!' Tracey grabbed her arm, dragging her along. 'I had to suffer your shopping-spree; now you get to suffer Draco.'

They navigated the densely packed streets. Half of London was on its feet, or so it seemed, following the call of the mild summer. It was weird how _normal_ everything was, only a few months after the horrific invasion of Lethifolds.

Hermione spotted them first, waving wildly. 'Tracey! Greengrass!'

'Hey!' called Tracey with a big smile. Daphne suspected part of that smile was at least relief from the _temporary_ break they were taking.

Deciding that completely withholding a greeting might be a tad too much, she raised her hand, giving it the tiniest of waves, nodding at Granger.

'Looking good, Greengrass!' said Draco, whistling loudly, his eyes glued to her dress.

'Thank you,' she replied icily, considering for the first time that it might have been prudent to wear something different – like a snowsuit. 'So, er, what are the both of you doing out here? You're not, you know …'

Granger looked at her blankly before she gave a rather hysterical yelp of shock. 'What?!'

Daphne didn't blame her. The thought of going out with that sleazy little mutt was rather revolting.

'Don't be ridiculous,' said Draco. 'No, this is about Granger's education. Seeing as she bragged about finishing her homework on the first week of the break last year, I thought she might as well be doing something useful with her time for once.'

'Homework is useful!' protested Granger, looking somewhat hurt.

Tracey rolled her eyes, patting the Muggle-born's hand. 'Of course it is, honey.'

'Anyway,' continued Draco, 'since I'm away for a few weeks, I asked a few people and – you know what – there actually _are_ people offering their services to uplift Muggle-borns from the bog of banality.'

'Uplift?' repeated Granger, narrowing her eyes. 'And you said there weren't any teachers!'

'There weren't last time I checked. But, truth be told, it's not like I'm overly fussed over the topic.'

'Wait, so you're arranging for her to have professional lessons?' asked Tracey.

Draco took a sip of his coffee, his eyes looking unfocused, wandering all over the place. 'More or less. Mind you, the teacher won't have my distinct background, of course, but I suppose they'll have to do until we're back at school. I've already contracted the most expensive one.'

'Of course, you have,' said Daphne, sighing.

'Er, how much exactly–' began Granger.

But Draco interrupted her immediately, waving his hand. 'Don't worry about the small stuff. Anyway, her name's a bit queer, but she's got credentials from the Ministry.' He produced an envelope, pushing it across the table towards Hermione. 'You'll find everything you need to know within.'

'Oh – thank you,' replied Granger with what Daphne considered a rather respectable bow, pocketing the letter.

'Anyway, it's been nice meeting you all,' said Malfoy pompously, speaking to Daphne's dress yet again, 'but I've got to pack for our vacation.'

Nodding towards Daphne's face for once, he rose from his chair, disappearing within the crowd only moments later.

'What'd he leave that quickly for?' asked Granger, confused.

'Don't ask me,' said Daphne, 'but I'm not complaining.'

Tracey sniggered. 'It's probably because he doesn't have any Muggle money. I'm sure it'd wound his pride if Hermione knew he couldn't pay his tab.'

'Ridiculous. It's the least I can do. I'm sure the teacher won't be cheap …'

'Probably a few hundred Galleons a month,' said Daphne conversationally, ignoring Granger's second yelp. 'Or maybe … he was uncomfortable that we interrupted your 'Not-A-Date'?'

'It _wasn't_ a date!' snapped Granger.

Daphne grinned. 'No need to get defensive with me if it really wasn't a date.'

'Don't worry,' said Tracey, patting Granger's hand again. Daphne had to suppress a laugh at how her best friend had to stretch to reach the Muggle-born's hand, seeing as she was more than a head shorter. 'He's good for his looks and money, at least.'

'Anyway,' said Granger with an air of finality born of discomfort, 'I should probably be heading out as well. I wanted to buy a bit of charmed parchment in Diagon Alley, but, at this rate, the shops are going to close.'

'Oh, drat!' yelled Daphne, hitting her own forehead. 'Mum's shopping list!'

'Right, you mentioned that,' said Tracey, sniggering. 'What's on it? We can go with Hermione.'

Daphne perused the little snippet. 'Floo Powder, Lacewing flies, a pint of pure mercury – why didn't she get all that in the apothecary with Tori?!'

'Is your mother a potion mistress?' asked Granger excitedly.

'Oh, no – not really. I mean, she brews the odd tincture or elixir, but nothing like Tracey's mum does.'

Tracey wrinkled her nose. 'Wish she wouldn't. I don't like potions – they reek!'

'There are nice-smelling potions,' said Daphne reproachfully, remembering some of the experiments with love potions she'd done for the giggles.

'Maybe they're bearable when they're done,' continued Tracey, 'but the brewing always stinks like hell. And the mess! You ladies can cook with intestines, dung, and sundry excretions however much you please – even though I reckon there's something seriously wrong with you if you actually enjoy chopping worms and skinning snakes! Comes down to all the fumes, I expect …'

 _Memory Lane_

'You sure you don't want to sleep over?' asked Daphne, lounging on her chair at Florean Fortescue's. Dusk was falling, the last deep red rays of warmth bathing the girls in a mellow light. The crowds were finally calming down a bit as well. Daphne usually enjoyed all the hustle and bustle, but the endless chatter could wear you out. Still, she was in a very good mood, so she suggested – for the third time – that Tracey really should stay overnight.

'Wish I could,' said Tracey with a dramatic sigh, watching Granger's bushy mane weave through the crowd until it disappeared. 'But my mum's really busy with work or whatever, brewing some complicated potion and not leaving her study. And guess who's got the short end of the stick at home?!'

'Your dad?' asked Daphne, playing along.

'Ha! Dad! Good one.' Tracey cutely wrinkled her brow, slurping her third milkshake with obscene audibility. 'I love Dad, really, but he's not … the most organised of people. No presence of mind …'

Daphne didn't respond. Her best friend probably needed to vent a bit of steam.

'… but really, is it reasonable to demand of a sixteen-year-old girl to spend her vacation cooking and cleaning?!'

'You cook and clean?' asked Daphne with a laugh. 'That's hilarious! Please remind me not to visit.'

'Haha,' grumbled Tracey sarcastically. 'That you of all people make fun of me for cleaning stuff. I'm actually scared of entering your room at this point!'

'It's not that bad!'

'It so is!'

'And what about the cooking bit?! You would even burn toast whenever I came over, remember?'

'But not even I burn pasta! Not very often anyway … Wish we had a house-elf.'

'Oh, I _so_ get that,' said Daphne, nodding fervently. 'I wish I could call Lobbo more often, but, you know, being my gran's elf and all …'

'Harry has _three_ elves looking after him. How lucky is he?!' demanded Tracey enviously. 'No wonder he's so pampered.'

'Harry is _not_ pampered!'

Tracey stared at her, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

'Yeah, okay, maybe he's a tiny bit … sheltered.'

'A bit?! You did see that ridiculous quill he's been writing with, didn't you? You could buy a _house_ with what that must have cost.'

'It was a present! Harry didn't ask for it.'

'A present?' Tracey sighed wistfully. 'Sometimes I wonder if I have the wrong family …'

Daphne laughed again. 'I'm not so sure. He told me the quill was from Aunt Narcissa.'

'What – Draco's mum?! Merlin, never mind then. Imagine being closely related to _Draco_.'

Daphne flinched. 'Thanks …'

'You don't count!' said Tracey hastily. 'I mean, aren't you only related through Phineas Nigellus? Draco told me once that he's a shared ancestor. That's like being fourth cousins!'

Daphne didn't look up from her own drink, playing with her straw, immensely grateful that her long hair was finally useful for something – like hiding her burning ears. 'Er, truth be told, our grandmother, ahem, well, she,' Daphne was speaking rather fast now, 'she's present on two sides of our family tree, you see …'

Tracey, who seemed to immediately realise what she was getting at, winced. Daphne was glad how fast on the uptake her best friend could be.

'She was a bit unstable, too, Grandma Walburga.'

'Sorry … I suppose it didn't help that she had to marry her … second cousin or something?'

'Good guess,' said Daphne, nervously fiddling with the hem of her dress. 'Honestly, I don't know all that much about her. Let's talk about something else, please.'

Tracey nodded. After a few seconds of an entirely transparent attempt to come up with a topic, she said, 'How's the planning for the party going?'

Daphne smiled at her best friend in gratitude. 'It's going to be great! Just you wait …'

They talked about this and that, sombre matters like her perhaps slightly _too_ familiar family all too soon forgotten. In the end, Tracey decided that she should, at the very least, accompany Daphne home.

'How very gallant!' quipped Daphne with a grin.

'That's me! Gallant Knightess Davis, at your service,' said Tracey, puffing out her chest that – unfortunately – probably was the most chivalric thing about her.

Daphne laughed anyway. She adored Tracey's easy-going side. 'Knightess? Shouldn't that be Dame?'

'Oh, no. That's for mollycoddles who like debating and stuff. I'm more of the kick-ass persuasion.'

They took their time, chatting about anything from boys, school, to Quidditch, passing the flower shop next to the hidden entrance to Daphne's home. The potty Muggle lady who owned the shop, Mrs Spencer, was just closing up.

Exchanging cautionary, polite greetings, they walked past the boundary of the charm that concealed the orchard and the small house at its centre.

'I'm back,' called Daphne as soon as the door closed behind them. 'You really sure you can't sleep over? It's been ages!'

'One year doesn't count as ages!'

'Does too!'

'Oh, Daphne, there you are. I was beginning to worry.' Daphne's mother gave both her daughter and Tracey a hug. 'Good to see you, Tracey. Are you staying over? Can I tempt you with some cake from yesterday?'

Daphne could see the determination of her best friend wavering. But, or so it seemed, even the customarily effective secret weapon didn't seem to be enough this time around. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Greengrass, not today.'

Daphne's mother inspected Tracey as if she were ill. 'Do you want me to wrap up a slice or two? It'd be no trouble at all.'

But still Tracey hesitated.

Daphne, with an enticing smile, added, 'It's a chocolate sponge cake.'

'Yes, please!' squealed Tracey immediately.

They all shared a laugh at Tracey's hungry expression – even Tori, who had come poking her head around the corner to see what all the fuss was about.

Daphne led the procession to the living room while her mother dashed off towards the kitchen. Tracey, without any reservation whatsoever, threw herself on the couch. 'I'm knackered.'

'Shopping too hard?' asked Tori with what her sister considered to be an unnecessarily accusatory tone.

'It was barely five hours!' protested Daphne snappishly.

Tori rolled her eyes. 'Well, as long as something came of it. I like your shirt, Tracey. I've got one just like that.'

Daphne coughed awkwardly. 'Let's not talk abo–'

'It's yours, Tori,' mumbled Tracey, her head pressed against the cushion. 'I borrowed it because I didn't dress up Muggle.'

Daphne winced. Despite what she'd said, she wasn't at all sure her sister wouldn't throw a huge tantrum.

'Oh,' said Tori, looking astonished. Then, she grinned. 'I guess that explains why it looks so familiar. No biggie!'

'What?!' Daphne cried out. 'You bet it'd be a biggie if I'd taken anything of yours!'

'Well, yeah,' said Tori in that sort of patient voice adults use to explain why A isn't B. 'But you're you and Tracey isn't.'

'Thanks …'

'Oh, sisterly love,' said Tracey loftily, lifting her head from the cushion with a grin. 'There's nothing like it.'

'You wouldn't say that if you had a sister,' said Tori emphatically.

'My words exactly,' agreed Daphne with a serious expression.

'So, will you be staying here all summer?' asked Tracey, stretching sleepily.

'Yeah! I think so. Probably. Mum said something like that – I think. She did, didn't she, Daphne?'

Daphne rolled her eyes. 'Yes.'

'I like this place better than your manor; it's comfy!'

The sisters, most unusually, nodded in agreement again.

'Not to mention that we're safe here from that creepy skeleton with the mushroom hat.'

Tracey giggled, but Tori looked nervous. 'Shh! Don't let Mum hear you talk like that about Gran!'

'Plus,' continued Daphne, unimpressed, 'there aren't half as many portraits here.'

'Oh, yeah,' said Tori. 'I always feel like I'm under constant watch over there …'

'Probably because our delightful grandmother is keeping an eye on us,' responded Daphne thoughtfully.

'Maybe she's just worried,' speculated Tori.

Daphne sighed. Tori could be so simple-hearted. 'Worried that we'll "sully our honour" and "damage her goods" more than likely.'

'What?' asked Tori, looking from Tracey to Daphne.

'Daphne means that your gran is worried that you'll pop your cherry whoring around Knockturn Alley.'

'Tracey!' hissed Daphne. 'She's fourteen!'

But, to Daphne's annoyance, Tori was laughing just as hard as Tracey. Daphne was even more disturbed when she saw one of the few ancient portraits, a distant ancestor or relative of a bald man in his forties called Taurus Blackthaw, wink saucily at Tracey. Through squinted eyes, she glared at the man, who looked suitably ashamed of being caught, pretending he hadn't done anything.

 _Memory Lane_

The woman styling herself as Aenor Rose gazed at the setting sun, her long, slender legs dangling over the brink of the jagged bluff. Stretching with an unseemly little yawn that her grandfather would surely have reprimanded her for, she leant back with a relaxed little smile. An excitedly croaking flock of ravens glided through the evening air, circling above.

The sun was smiling back at her, rosy red light emblazing the vast, fathomless sea in front of her like a million twinkling rubies. She purred jauntily, taking a deep breath of the salty air, revelling in the melancholy. Not too long ago, she'd been constantly nagging about the solitude of the ocean and the little, cramped cabin – but today, only a few years after she'd been rudely kicked out to 'finally see the world', she couldn't help longing for those simple days.

Was it that way for everyone? Deep down, she suspected, most people craved simplicity, a tomorrow that wasn't too different from what they had today. Going to work, complaining about work; talking to the neighbour, slagging the neighbour off; striving for change, and trying to keep everything in balance – that was how most people preferred their lives. A life of predictable unpredictability. Change was very welcome, as long as it came slowly, in small doses, and wiped its dirty boots – thank you very much.

Her gaze swept over the vast, daunting sea, revelling in both the sight and the chilly evening breeze that ruffled and tossed her hair, twisting and turning her formerly tidy, meticulously coiffed hair.

Change … the word did something to her. It had a slightly melancholic, tragic taste she couldn't bear to hate or love. Change, 'brydning'¹, was a cornerstone of her grandfather's teachings – arguably tragically so.

She'd come to Britain on a hunch, knowing that there was at least one connection she could exploit. In truth, the danger of that connection was very much pointed both ways, but Aenor trusted a stand-off threatening mutually assured destruction more than feigned words of compassion.

She sighed again, painfully aware of how she had wasted two years – more or less. True, she didn't have a schedule or even a plan, but looking after a now almost-sixteen-year-old certainly wasn't what she'd envisioned when she'd set out. And yet, dropping him, dropping it all would be such a waste.

Harry and the Blacks were _interesting_. Never would she have dared to dream that she'd get a chance to study one of Europe's oldest magical clans and their rather dastardly magical background. She still got a pleasurable shiver of excitement when she thought about how the ancient Blacks had shared their blood with Lethifolds. It was … beautiful. Reckless, insensible, borderline-harebrained – true – but also … lovely … in its single-minded pursuit of power and knowledge. An honest wish and no excuses; a problem and a solution. No scruples, no reservations. Only limitless brilliance and academic ambition – exactly how magical research was supposed to be. Too bad their experiments had ultimately failed, but it was the thought that counted, right? Small wonder her grandfather had always shown a vague interest in that family.

Truly, despite how annoyed she'd been to be dancing in the palm of the older Black, she couldn't help feeling grateful. But there was even more, wasn't there?

The Lethifolds, yes, they had explained Harry's incredible night vision, his affinity to the beasts, how the pack hadn't tried to lacerate him and his friends in the forest. That strange darkness charm, too, had turned out to be an imitation of the Lethifolds' natural magical aura. Its weakness to the Patronus made an almost painful amount of sense.

But there was still more. The barrier … the barrier had been what had initially awoken her interest in Harry beyond his family background. How had Harry _seen_ it? Lethifolds were physically strong monsters that paralysed their victims with mental attacks. They were hard to ward off, but – just like Dumbledore had proven – it wasn't impossible. It was difficult to tell if Lethifolds were intelligent. In fact, until Harry's strange reaction at the ball, Aenor hadn't even considered the possibility. But despite it all, she doubted Lethifolds had any interest in studying or comprehending foreign magic. To them, all that mattered was the next feast, be it critter, person, or nation.

Yes, there was still something different going on with Harry, something unique. Bellatrix Lestrange, who was almost assuredly related to the Blacks, could not perceive magic like Harry did. She would have seen through Harry's little trick last summer otherwise. Was it another case of family magic? But even the Blacks surely knew better than to push their luck …

No, it was something different, something mysterious, a unique talent – and it got her blood boiling.

So what was the harm, really, in playing around with young Harry for a bit longer? She wasn't bound to her grandfather's destiny or plans; hadn't he himself told her so?

So how to best go about forcing Harry to grow up and relinquish his secrets? In her mind, Aenor once more heard her grandfather's words: 'Progress can only exist when there's a need to change.'

One of the ravens from above landed with a whoosh near her left hand. With a grouchy croak, the wild animal rubbed its feathered head against the back of her hand. When Aenor didn't react, it stopped just long enough to give her another sharp caw of complaint, resuming its rubbing almost immediately.

Smiling softly, Aenor petted the raven. It stopped its antics immediately, relaxing noticeably under her touch.

'You're a fastidious little critter, aren't you?' she asked the raven.

The raven blinked slowly, giving one more content little croak.

The forefinger of her other hand pressed to her lips in the characteristic pose of the innocent thinker, she stared pensively at the murder above. Above the swarm, a few clouds were slowly drifting north-east, towards the looming spires of the monstrous fortress that was barely visible on the horizon.

With a playful smile, she stood up, rolling her shoulders to get a bit of feeling in her back after an hour of leisure and sunbathing on hard rock in the middle of the sea.

The raven at her feet croaked again, clearly displeased with her lack of attention.

But Aenor's smile only widened. 'Sorry, but we're all selfish creatures like that.'

And then, the decision made, she flicked her wand. Maybe she'd get the ball of change rolling from there. In any case, it was just another purulent pustule in need of puncturing. She was doing Britain and those rotting wretches a kindness, really.

On the horizon, the black towers of the cursed fortress stood strong, standing out against the mellow dusk. Ten minutes later, an enormous crash and the following gigantic cloud of dust and soot put an end to the peaceful summer evening. For a few minutes, it was as if the ghosts of shouts and cries could be heard dancing above the waves – until they returned to their ethereal origins.

The murder of crows drew north, following the scent of the feast.

 _Memory Lane_

It's true what people say. History may be changed, fate overthrown by the merest touch of a finger at the right point, causing the literal snowball of change to set off the avalanche of destiny.

Problem is, reality has more directions than just 'downhill', and as such it's often hard to tell where the avalanche will go. In that way, the image of an avalanche might be slightly misleading; a real avalanche seldom rolls up the mountain to bury its catalyst.

* * *

¹ **NB, brydning:** I'll spare you the effort. In its figurative sense, it means fight or even upheaval. More commonly, it refers to wrestling as a sport. It's Danish. (Second time that language's popped up. Cookies and honorary mentions to anyone who manages to find the first piece of Danish!)


	48. ML: Familia Alpha Est

**Familia alpha est** _or_ **Roses are red …**

* * *

It's such a peculiar quirk of reality that the smallest of things often have the biggest of impacts. Sometimes minuscule, microscopic, nigh-intangible things end up distorting space and time, ripping the fabric of history in twain, toppling kings and realms.

Friendship, family, love – a carelessly spoken words of comfort, a thoughtless touch, a kiss, things as ordinary, fleeting, and innocent as a nod or a short letter might easily gather momentum for days, months, or longer. If the flap of a butterfly's wings could grow into a storm, what purpose could trying to predict the future possibly serve?

Albus Dumbledore knew these things, knew of the irony of fate and its cruel machinations. The only thing one could do was to think deeply, choose one's words carefully, and reflect on one's actions.

It was precisely for this reason that the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had brooded over the cheap paper in his hands for the better part of his morning. And he didn't like what he saw, didn't like it one bit. Dramatically speaking, it was a very good photograph, he had to admit. The smoke, the subtle traces of blood on the ground, the cold hand visible underneath the rubble that left the reader wondering just whom it might belong to, the ravens circling above, and the stoic, darkly-handsome Auror in the centre. Even though Albus usually appreciated artistic instincts, he couldn't bring himself to like this one.

AZKABAN CONQUERED!  
Deadly break-in unleashes Britain's damned  
Head Auror: Dark witches or wizards responsible are 'highly organised, ruthless, and fully committed to their criminal agenda'

And on the next page ...

MINISTRY OF THE HELPLESS?  
A report on the inability of our leaders and their guard-hounds, by Rita Skeeter

And Britain had done so well these past few decades …

'Do you have any idea, Albus?' asked Professor McGonagall shakily.

'A great many ideas, my dear Minerva, and every single one as unlikely as the next.'

'Let the Ministry buffoons deal with the media. If we were to take action, we should be focusing on the escapees,' said the Potions Master.

'What sort of people got away?' asked Minerva, glowering at her colleague.

'Criminals of all kinds and heritage,' said Albus. 'Those who were incarcerated for their acts during the war are, for better or worse, greatly diminished. Still, a great many of those who made their escape belong to pure-blood clans, war criminals or otherwise.'

'Ah, yes,' drawled Snape with malicious glee. 'This would be the push for "accountability and a fair, free life for everyone" our enlightened leaders propagate, I suppose?'

Dumbledore, fiddling with his glasses, rubbed his tired eyes. 'They were still convicted for crimes according to our laws.'

'But perhaps the magnitude of their penalties wasn't _entirely_ appropriate in all cases?' suggested Snape delicately.

Dumbledore chose not to respond.

'We need to do something!' said Minerva, gripping the desk tightly. 'We should improve the castle's security. Maybe the Ministry can–'

'What we need,' said Dumbledore calmly, 'is to retain our composure.' He picked up a small letter bearing the seal of the Minister's office, his eyes flying over the contents once more. 'The con artists and other minor cases will sort themselves out. Those held for manslaughter have already either been caught or at the very least attracted the attention of Madame Bones. The problematic ones–'

'Will be those whom their families have harboured,' finished Snape.

'Or worse,' murmured Dumbledore, ignoring his teachers' inquisitive glances. _Those that_ haven't _been harboured by their families …_

'Aren't you a little too optimistic, Albus? Just like …' began Minerva, but she stopped herself in time.

'Harry Black has nothing to do with this,' said Dumbledore firmly.

'They almost certainly _were_ at the Ministry, for Merlin's sake,' said Minerva, sounding somewhat frustrated. 'I know young Mr Black is no killer, but don't you think you've crossed the line there …?'

For a second, Dumbledore didn't answer, pondering his words, keenly aware of Severus' intense stare. 'It is my strong belief that neither Mr Black nor Miss Davis was responsible for the tragedy that unfolded within the Ministry.'

'However can you be sure?!'

Dumbledore sighed. 'Because – frankly – while young Mr Black's Occlumency is incomprehensibly well developed for his age, Miss Davis' is _merely_ outstanding.'

'You mean– You mean you had a look …?' The Transfiguration mistress was struggling with several conflicting emotions, finally settling for disapproval.

'I disagree.'

Surprised, Dumbledore turned his head in Snape's direction. 'Severus?'

'I beg your pardon, Headmaster, but you aren't teaching them on a regular basis. While I hate to admit that your assessment of Mr Black is probably spot on, Davis is easily as accomplished as most non-specialist Aurors I'm acquainted with. In a way, she's even beyond Mr Black; while her mind may not be as strong or organised, her defences are … malleable.'

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, resting his head against the ancient wood. 'Her mother works in the Department of Mysteries, doesn't she? It's not inconceivable that she received lessons in their particular style early on.'

'Maybe the alcohol weakened her defences?' suggested Minerva.

Snape licked his lips. 'Possibly …?' he said with an air of doubt about said possibility.

'Either way,' continued Dumbledore with a frown, 'I am not prepared to surrender students to the Ministry if they cannot be expected to receive fair treatment.'

Snape scoffed. 'As if Arcturus Black would allow his heir to remain in the hands of the Ministry.'

'Ah, but I am _not_ talking primarily about Mr Black. I think the case is quite clear; only those who were present in the department know what happened there. Not cooperating with the Ministry is, alas, no capital offence. They have been punished fairly for being out of bounds. As for the rest – innocent until proven guilty. It behoves the Ministry to realise that Hogwarts is a school – not an extension of the Minister's office.'

'The notion that second years fought against hardened ICW Aurors is almost insulting,' added Snape with a disparaging wave of his hand. 'Whatever the brats did at the Ministry, it's clear that others are truly responsible for the events. And that Rose, at the very least, received orders to cover for them.'

'There is that, too,' agreed Dumbledore.

'Are you taking this seriously, Albus?! We'll be in terrible trouble if Rendall or the Minister ever get wind of this! Are you willing to gamble your headship on your insistence to forgive and forget?'

'We shall keep an eye on all of them, certainly,' conceded Dumbledore. 'But I will not judge children, especially those children, on their parentage.'

Minerva gave him a crooked, painful smile. 'You're entirely too soft. This is exactly why Frank is rolling over you in the Wizengamot, Albus.'

Dumbledore smiled back as if he'd received a great praise. 'Thank you, Minerva. But I'd rather take the back seat and keep an eye on _all_ sides. You can expect me to take action once the situation demands it.'

Later, long after his teachers had vacated his office, Albus Dumbledore was still mulling over Minerva's words. Fawkes, his eyes drilling into the headmaster with a blazing intensity, was the only one to pay it any attention.

Dumbledore meant what he'd said. Intervention, or so he'd found, was only ever the last possible option. Twice, years and years ago, he'd made a different choice – and paid a terrible price in the long run.

He wouldn't make the same choice again so easily.

 _Memory Lane_

Harry Black was floating on a current of dreams. His recent studies about lucid dreaming, he decided, were starting to pay off. Coolly he watched from above as his dream-copy struggled against his aunt's onslaught.

Bellatrix had insisted on resuming his training. Worse – she seemed to have got the silent approval of his grandfather. Harry had hoped that he'd find some respite in his sleep at least but alas …

'Focus!' shouted Bellatrix, her wild, untamed black hair fluttering loosely behind her.

Harry didn't move a muscle as he watched his memory-self struggle against the Imperius. He could see himself buckling under his aunt's spell, almost collapsing, but then – with an outburst of anger – he saw himself standing up, pushing back. The feedback of the broken connection caused Bellatrix to stagger. For a second, she looked enraged, but then her visage of madness cracked, and she smiled an impossibly wide smile at her nephew with those big, dark eyes of hers shining brightly.

'You did it!' she shrieked. 'You did it, and I didn't even hold back!'

Yes, he'd done it, Harry remembered, but all his muscles and joints were still burning. Bella's magic was oppressive, dark, and burning hot. And while the sensation of the Imperius Curse was not altogether uncomfortable, the moment he'd bested it, his entire body had felt as if he'd flown a couple hundred miles on an old Cleansweep.

That was three days ago, and even now – even in this dream – he could feel the white-hot pain in his back, the mild ache behind his temple.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as his exuberant aunt supported his dream equivalent, accompanying him out of the duelling room, leaving the door ajar, the room deserted, and the dreamer to his musings.

It was weird to watch his memories from afar. Despite the limited control he had over his conscious self, Harry could never quite shake the feeling that he wasn't _entirely_ awake. No matter how ridiculous his dreams got, and the dreams of soon-to-be sixteen-year-olds did get ridiculous indeed, there was always the lingering doubt that he couldn't wake up even if he tried. And so he didn't try.

For a second, Harry's gaze wandered to a certain spot behind the leftmost pillar of the room. The marble was pristine again, no trace of blood or runes betraying its ghastly past – or Harry's. It was as if a page had been turned over in the mercilessly progressive book of history.

 _Bang!_

Harry gave a tremendous start, his heart hammering in his chest. The door had slammed close – as if it had been the plaything of an intangible draft. Did this belong to the memory? But he had long left this room, and all that should remain was a static image.

Holding his breath, he stared at the heavy door.

Slowly, as if handled by an invisible force, the handle turned. Inch by inch, the gap between the door and the frame began to widen. Then, with terrible force, the door banged shut again, causing Harry to jump once more, his blood running cold.

 _What the …?!_

Trying to stay calm, Harry focused, willing himself to leave his dream.

But nothing happened.

Once more, with chills creeping down his back, he watched the door slowly open. This time, it banged shut with such power that Harry stumbled back.

In his rising panic, Harry looked around. The pillars in the room had vanished at some point. There was no precious Italian marble on the floor. The ceiling lacked the incredible hand-drawn mural paintings. Harry didn't recognise his surroundings.

Out of nowhere, there was another thundering bang.

It was so loud, so threatening, that it took Harry a few seconds to realise that someone had knocked on the door.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

It sounded as if someone was hammering on the wood with the force of destiny. The door, too, now appeared gigantic, at least five times as big as it should have been.

Harry realised that he was standing on some sort of narrow plateau with more levels down in front of him, each – just like the Hanging Gardens – separated by a drop of at least five feet. Meaningless, funny pictures in wooden frames as big as himself hung on the white wall that stretched endlessly behind him.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Suddenly, there was a voice above him. 'Are we expecting visitors, James?'

Harry heard a strange clicking noise from the door, and then, all hell broke loose. Screams, loud explosions, colourful lights; it all flickered in front of his eyes like a film. A bathroom painted white but dyed crimson, a group of people in long cloaks, a knife, screams, red water. Red rain. So much warm red water. It clung to the walls, to the floor, to the clothes, gathering in big pools on the cold tiles. It stank. Laughing, a high, shrill laugh. A crooning, ardent voice.

And then it all went out of control, the scenes grew frantic. His training session with Bellatrix, his talk with Amadina outside of Hogwarts, Regulus' death, Regulus' corpse, the indistinct voices of people he hated gathering in the ballroom. He felt as if they were all staring at him, a thousand featureless faces giggling, taunting, jeering in that thick, frenetic voice. The scenes twisted, flickered until it was the bathroom again.

'Filthy traitors!'

'… get what they deserved!'

'–t the boy, don't …'

'… prude philistines, the lot o–'

'–ey say blood will out. Let's have a look, shall we?'

Their voices and faces, so dangerous, so close by, flowed into one another, like colours mixing on a canvas. All the white, all the blue, and all the green was dyed a deep, fatal, warm red.

And then, with a scream, Harry awoke in his bed in Wales, drenched in sweat and completely out of breath.

 _Memory Lane_

A few calming breaths and a lot of water later, Harry gazed into the large wall mirror hidden within his wardrobe, feeling the images of his dream slip from his consciousness. He had purple rings under his eyes, and a sweaty sheen clung to his skin. He felt weak, diminished, and – worst of all – humiliated. Humiliated by the effect a simple nightmare had on him. His hair, unruly even on the best of days, stood on end. If he hadn't been feeling so sick, he might have joked that he looked as if he'd messed with a bad Jolting Hex.

Still, it had been the first nightmare, the first night of anything less than a perfect rest since the beginning of summer. At the very least, the chances of some unholy eldritch monsters haunting his sleep were now … well … decidedly lower.

With a sigh, Harry scratched his head, looking at the scrawny reflection in the mirror. The last growth spurt, though that term might be a bit euphemistic, had left him looking only more delicate. If he wasn't careful, even Tracey might catch up to him yet … Already both Lestranges were taller – not to mention Draco, who had always been rangy, just like his father.

Harry took two consecutive cold showers, taking as much time as possible to dress and come back alive. Putting on his favourite cerulean robes, his eyes eventually came to rest on his bookshelf. More specifically, he gazed at a particularly battered book that looked like someone had chewed on a few of its pages: _Dreams of Yonder Days_. It was a silly little fairy-tale, but it was the first non-educational book Harry had ever been allowed. He was quite fond of it. More importantly, he had recently decided to entrust this book with another treasure of his …

Twenty minutes later, Arcturus Black raised an eyebrow as his heir, struggling to walk with the dignity that befitted his station, slowly sank into an empty chair. 'Good morning, Harry. Not a good night's rest, I gather?'

'Yes. I apologise for my late arrival, Grandfather. Good morning.'

The old man examined him from over his newspaper, his sharp pearlescent eyes darting between Harry's. 'It's quite all right, my son. Is Bellatrix overdoing it again?'

'No, nothing of the sort …'

'Master Harry should eat first! Master is getting thinner with every waning month!' complained Cranky, not too subtly shoving three croissants Harry's way.

It was only when Harry had finished what Cranky forced him to eat that he realised how tense his grandfather truly was. The customary rustling of pages was completely absent from their morning routine. It was as if the man was trying to burn a hole into the page with the intensity of his gaze alone. He didn't even look up when three dozen owls, some ruffling their feathers importantly, dropped a small heap of letters onto the table. It was very rare for the Blacks to receive more than two or three letters. Most of their contacts were, after all, trying their best to hide that connection.

It was only then that Harry actually had a look at what was written on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Azkaban Conquered!

The knife in his hand fell with a clang on his plate.

'Someone's broken into Azkaban?!' he shouted, jumping up from his seat.

'Yes.'

'And the prisoners …?'

'Most of them escaped.'

Harry's heart leapt. 'Sirius!' he yelled excitedly, craning his neck to look at the fireplace in the small dining room as if he expected the man to burst forth any instant.

'We shall see,' said Arcturus in a strangely neutral voice. 'While I'd obviously prefer Sirius to live his life outside of that … gaol, I hope I needn't remind you that he's _not_ with the family.'

The smile on Harry's face turned sour. 'Nobody deserves to rot away in that dump,' he said, so strongly – apparently – that Arcturus decided to look up again.

After a while, the old man said, 'I quite agree.'

'Would you– I mean, if Sirius were to knock and ask …' Harry's words dangled helplessly in the air. He knew that Sirius' decision to publicly part with his family had left a lot of resentment and hurt behind.

Thankfully, his grandfather seemed to pick up on his meaning easily enough. 'If he were to knock on that door and ask for shelter, I wouldn't turn him away, Harry. But he hasn't done that – at least not yet. We do not even know if he's successfully escaped. It does not do well to dwell on whens and ifs.'

Reluctantly, Harry nodded, turning his gaze towards the picture on the front of the Prophet again. A ruggedly handsome Auror wearing some kind of mask to conceal parts of his face was sifting through some rubble, his lustrous dark hair sticky with sweat.

Suddenly, the fire exploded with green flames. For a second, Harry's wishes seemed to be coming true, but the figure that appeared in the fire wasn't at all that of his godfather. Instead, it was the familiar, prematurely wrinkled face of an impatient-looking woman in her early sixties. Even though the magic of the Floo should be entirely smokeless, a thick, biting haze rose from the woman. It smelled of cheap pipe tobacco.

'Are we alone?' the face demanded curtly.

'Harry is here,' said Arcturus casually, 'but you can speak your mind, Druella.'

'Good. I signed the letter of intent yesterday – in Wolfie's and some of his friends' presence. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be pushing for more concessions with this prison nonsense happening.'

'Of course,' said Arcturus without even looking up. 'They wouldn't expect any less, I'm sure.'

'I still think there's something between Selwyn and the anorexic old crone. You know they used to be intimately acquainted.'

'I should think so,' agreed Arcturus. 'But we'll proceed as discussed. Ophala insisted on doing it herself.'

'Well, she's got guts, I'll give her that,' grumbled Druella reluctantly.

Harry, his mind reeling, tried desperately to keep up. 'Has a date been fixed then?'

Both Druella and Arcturus shot him a glance.

'Yes,' answered Arcturus eventually. 'Tomorrow at noon. Ophala apparently spoke with her daughters yesterday.'

'Who else is involved?' asked Harry in a hushed voice.

'There will only be one other ceremonial witness, due to personal reasons. The rest of our family, except those that participated in our meeting, are to remain unaware.'

'It's still a risky move – foolish some might say,' opined Druella, overbold. Harry couldn't help admiring that she always spoke her mind, regardless of who her opposite was. That was also, he surmised, what made his grandfather place so much faith in her counsel. 'She was Regulus' wife! And you know how many bonders died in the past because dull-witted brats were involved …'

'While I agree that it's not quite up to the standards of some of our past initiations,' replied his even-minded grandfather, 'I feel it's necessary to drive a wedge between Selwyn and the Ministry. And wasn't it you and Bellatrix who accused me of being too lenient towards Selwyn, Druella?'

'If Selwyn somehow finds out that–'

This time, however, Arcturus cut her off. 'In that case, you have my promise that we'll deal with the Selwyns – conclusively.'

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of impatient puffing and burning tobacco.

'Fine,' said Druella Rosier, unceremoniously turning away from the fire after the lightest of bows towards Arcturus. 'Oh, and Harry?'

'Yes?'

'Try to stay out of trouble for _one_ year at Hogwarts, Salazar's Blood! My grandniece is becoming unbearable. She told me that it's taking all her mental fortitude to refrain from rolling her eyes at you in the common room or the Great Hall. Frankly, I tire of her whining.'

'Er, I'll try,' Harry replied somewhat lamely.

'See that you do.'

And with a whoosh, the fire went out again. For a few seconds, Harry and Arcturus exchanged silent glances.

'I didn't know a date had been fixed,' said Harry, struggling to keep the accusatory undertone from his voice. 'And so soon!'

Arcturus nodded. 'The decision was made yesterday morning. Ophala herself pressed the issue. I hadn't had time to discuss it with you yet.'

'Does Tori know, too …?'

'You should know that Ophala made it a condition to be completely open with her daughters about the situation. Both Astoria and Daphne are not allowed their wands or to leave their house until it's all over – but they should have a general understanding, yes. I'm sure you're aware of what I mean.'

Hidden from view underneath the table, Harry clenched his fists. 'I'm not … entirely convinced this is right,' he admitted. 'Tori is fourteen! What if she doesn't manage?!'

'I understand, Harry, but this is for their well-being as well. You know best that Esme isn't fit to watch over her family. Her personal agenda blinds her to the needs of those she is bound by duty to protect and guide.'

Harry didn't reply. Still, his grandfather had always encouraged him to be open about his doubts … 'But aren't we using them, too? You allowed Esmerelle to publicly distance the Greengrasses from the Blacks so that Ophala's dealings with us would seem all the more unlikely.'

'I don't deny it,' said Arcturus, putting down the paper. 'But, Harry, I don't intend to sell off my own flesh and blood for a few coins of copper. If that is Daphne's and Astoria's wish, I will allow them to settle abroad and lead their lives as they choose to – with all the advantages of our connection and no responsibilities.'

'But you wish that they'll spy for you from within the Minister's or Selwyn's camp.'

Arcturus raised an eyebrow, and Harry, feeling as if he'd gone one step too far, just barely refrained from wincing. 'Observing Selwyn's actions will largely fall to the Rosiers. Dealing with the Minister, that is my understanding with _Ophala_ , my son – and the other source you're aware of. Do you think I'm the kind of man to force girls your age to spy on our foes?'

'I– No, of course not … I apologise, Grandfather.' After a few seconds of embarrassment, he added, 'I don't think I can be entirely objective in this matter.'

Arcturus, to Harry's surprise, smiled. 'Nor did I expect you to be. Harry, we all have our responsibilities. And while family has to come first, you have your connection with the girls to think of. I'm not encouraging you to break it off – quite the contrary. One duty does not absolve you from another. In fact …'

Humming, lost in thought, Arcturus rummaged in the pile of letters on the table, extracting a rather shabby envelope, presenting it to Harry. Harry immediately recognised Daphne's handwriting, even though the letters looked shaky and uneven. The envelope was wavy, and droplets of what had undoubtedly been tears had made some parts of the address illegible.

With a gut-wrenching pang of guilt, he ripped the envelope open.

The letter only contained a few words:

'Please come! I don't want to be alone with this.'

His guts contracted uncomfortably, but Harry forced himself to look up again wearing a neutral expression.

Arcturus was still smiling gently his way. 'Go, Harry. We have responsibilities not only to our family but to our friends and loved ones also.'

With a bow towards his grandfather, Harry left the room. But on his mind was – treacherously – not only Daphne but Lucretia, too. And Harry couldn't help feeling that if he had duties towards Daphne and Tori, shouldn't Arcturus have felt responsible for his daughter as well …?

 _Memory Lane_

'Sweetpea, please!' called Ophala Greengrass through the locked door again, her voice cracking. 'Please, let's talk. And you need to eat something!'

'Go away,' shouted Daphne, burying her head in the cushion.

'Daphne, I really only wan–'

'GO AWAY!'

From behind the door, Daphne heard her mother sigh with disappointment. She hadn't felt this miserable in years – not since her father had been murdered in their own home by the people she had naively believed to uphold peace and order.

Thinking about her father only caused the lump in her throat to hurt more painfully. It was so unreal how only yesterday she'd been enjoying a day in the sun with her best friend – and now this. Unable to suppress a sob, she punched her pillow.

She knew it was stupid. She knew she was being childish. She knew it was probably for the better. She knew her mother was honouring her father. She knew that Harry's entire family pretended that he was – due to legal reasons – one of her father's siblings. She knew they would never have accepted her at his side. She knew Harry probably thought of her as a sister. She knew all of that!

But it hurt all the same.

What were knowledge and reason in the face of desire and love? Even the faintest hope was preferable to the certainty of disillusionment, wasn't it?

She hit her pillow again.

Worst of all, she wasn't even allowed to speak about it to anyone but her own family – whom she just couldn't reveal the root of the distress to. The notion of confiding in Tori was almost laughable. She wasn't sure her younger sister had truly understood the extent of the decision their mother had made – or the dangers involved. And speaking of her mother … She just couldn't bear to see her right now.

Who she really wanted to talk to was Tracey, but her mother had made it painfully clear that she wasn't allowed to. Tracey usually managed to make her feel better. Despite or perhaps because of her clumsy, goofy, and not very ladylike nature, her best friend always managed to make her laugh.

Tracey and Harry were the people whom she felt comfortable confiding in. And now she wasn't allowed to talk to one while she was being torn from the other.

It was strange how she had absolute faith in both of them considering how contrasting they were. Tracey, as a rule of thumb, never shut up, whereas Harry had to be encouraged to interact with others.

She still vividly remembered the day she'd introduced Harry to Tracey. She hadn't told them they were going to meet someone else. Their reactions had been hilarious as even her bubbly best friend, for once, had seemed stunned and speechless. They'd both gawked, standing there awkwardly. At least that's how it had seemed at the time. Soon enough, Tracey had to be reined in to not cross any lines with Harry, of course, who had still been incredibly withdrawn. It had taken some time for them to get comfortable around each other – not that they ever really did anything together. In retrospect, Tracey had always been annoyingly distant with Harry – much to Daphne's frustration. Why that was she had never found out, but some people just didn't get along. You couldn't force it. Maybe they were just too different? It couldn't have been his family at least, of that she was sure; she'd become best friends with Tracey when she had still been Daphne Black after all.

A polite knock on the door interrupted Daphne's reminiscing.

'I said I don't want to talk!' she snapped, hiccuping.

But it wasn't her mother at all. 'It's me, Daphne.'

Daphne froze. She had written that letter, of course, but she wouldn't have dared to hope that Harry would turn up so quickly. So quickly. Too quickly! Horrified, she realised that she'd cried the entire night and spent the last fifteen hours in bed. She had to look like a banshee!

'I– I … Go away!' she shouted, immediately regretting the words and feeling the heat rise to her ears.

'Now that's an odd reaction after writing me that letter,' muttered Harry, and she could practically hear him scratching his head in disbelief and confusion.

Hastily, Daphne produced a little hand-mirror from her bedside cabinet, looking at her reflection with a sense of panic. 'I … I'm not presentable! I haven't taken a shower yet. Go and wait downstairs!'

'You're being ridiculous again …'

There was the tapping sound of wood on wood. Alarmed, Daphne watched as the key in the lock turned all by itself. With the following click, the door swung open. Daphne pressed her large 'Potioneer – and proud of it!' pillow over her face to conceal the bedraggled state she was in, drawing the blanket up to her neck with her other hand.

'Daphne …'

Despite herself, Harry's voice made her sneak a reluctant peek at the boy standing in the door. He was wearing one of those colourful if archaic silken robes he so loved. He didn't look particularly healthy or rested if the skin under his eyes was anything to go by, but his jade-green eyes shone with a powerful inner light. Despite how small he really was (Daphne was sure she was and had always been taller than him), he looked strangely impressive, standing alone in the door, his shadow flickering over the entire wall behind him.

He didn't speak, his strong gaze never straying from hers. Without another word, he spread his arms as if to welcome her. And Daphne, her throat burning, jumped up and straight into his arms, weeping on his shoulder, clutching his robes with desperation, guiltily enjoying his entirely too rare moments of indulgence, his hands stroking her back, the warmth of his presence.

 _Memory Lane_

It took Daphne about ten minutes to calm down, though she pretended to be in tears for about ten more minutes – because Harry coddling her was simply put the best thing ever. She wasn't entirely sure whether her little act had passed unnoticed or if Harry had simply decided to let it go, but it was a win either way.

'Feeling better?' he mumbled softly.

Daphne, still revelling in the intimacy of their embrace, gave a tiny nod.

'Or do you want to play act damsel for a bit longer?'

Daphne strongly gripped his robes. 'You knew?!' she whispered, unsure if she wanted to laugh or vanish on the spot.

With what she pictured to be one of his impish smirks, he whispered back, 'You always get even more clingy once you calm down.'

'A gentleman would've just pretended not to notice!'

'I'm a gentleman to strangers only.'

For a few seconds, Daphne struggled with the question that arose from her fears – and lost. 'And we won't be strangers after tomorrow?' she breathed, trying to keep the trembling note of panic from her voice.

To her surprise, his answer came immediately. 'No.'

'But I thought–'

'Come, let's sit,' said Harry, breaking the embrace. 'I'll tell you what you want to know.'

Daphne was a bit disappointed, but she sat down next to Harry on her bed, taking his hand like she'd done a hundred times before. She was oddly relieved that he didn't resist.

'You thought that we would have to create some distance between us, didn't you? You thought that we wouldn't be allowed to meet any longer.'

She didn't dare look in his eyes, hiding behind her long mane. 'Well … Mum said that the secrecy of the covenant was paramount – or some such rot. She said that we'll have to do anything – _anything_ – to keep it private. And that we'd have to do whatever the main family demanded of us.'

'You're watching too many Muggle motion pictures with Tracey.'

'Films,' interrupted Daphne automatically.

'Pardon?'

'Nobody says "motion pictures".'

'Really? Be that as it may, in your own words, what would be the best way to avoid suspicion?'

'To … I don't know! I can't think straight right now.' She stared at their hands as if they could answer for her. Eventually, she said, 'To not do something fishy?'

'Precisely.' Gently, Harry put two fingers under her chin and forced her to look up. 'What that means, in essence, is that nothing at all is going to change. Well, nothing between us at least.'

Daphne gazed into his eyes, revelling in his authentic, gentle smile that she knew he didn't show to just anyone. 'But I thought the entire point of branch families was to have secret–'

But he waved her objection aside. 'No. The entire point of branches is to ensure the safety and integrity of the entire tree over a long term. It doesn't really factor into the grand scheme of things if a single branch grows this way or that way for a generation or two. Some branches have been with us for over five hundred years.'

'F– Five hundred?!' she asked disbelievingly.

'Five hundred. Don't you think it would be kind of suspicious if we refused to interact with specific families in public for hundreds of years? That's what real discretion means, Daphne. Just getting on with life as if nothing had happened. There have even been two instances of marriages between secondary members of the main family and branches – though they were admittedly highly controversial for several reasons.'

'Really?!'

Harry chuckled at her disbelief. 'Really.'

'And about being ordered to do stuff we don't want?'

'It's not so different from what your grandmother could legally force you to do right now. What _is_ different is that the magic will protect you against certain forms of magical probing. You'll also be physically unable to betray your family – which is all done to keep _you_ safe. The only really drastic difference is that you can't, well, quit. Honestly, didn't Ophala explain this to you?!'

Daphne coughed awkwardly. 'I, er, may … havernaywhntwasalltooch …'

Harry blinked. 'Come again?'

All of a sudden, Daphne felt like hiding under her blanket again. 'I … ran up here when it was all too much to take.'

Harry smiled, his thumb running over the skin under her eyes to wipe away a few lingering tears. 'You're hopeless.'

'Well, it was all really scary stuff!' After a short pause, she asked, 'Is it true that the contract is written in blood?'

'It's a bit more complicated than that, but – essentially – yes. It's necessary because it's meant to be binding to your descendants as well. You should look at it like this: accepting the covenant essentially makes all of your descendants Blacks – no matter how many generations will pass, and even if your family will only produce daughters from now on.'

' … will it hurt?'

'It'll be over relatively quickly. I'll be by your side if you want.'

Daphne nodded, tightening her hold on his hand. 'I'd like that … And I'm sure Tori would want that as well.'

Harry looked at her, a complicated expression on his face, and Daphne just knew that he was keeping something from her. But, a moment later, he nodded. 'Then it shall be as you wish.'

Once again, a few moments passed in silence while Harry apparently waited for her to ask away. 'So there are really dozens of families out there who are effectively Blacks but call themselves differently in public?'

But, to her confusion, Harry wagged his head. Seeing her lack of understanding, he took a deep breath before raising his finger in lecture. 'No. Family contracts are incredibly rare for practical reasons. Also, what you might also have missed if you ran out on your mother, what follows family contracts is usually a contract of apprenticeship.'

'The what now?!'

Harry smiled patiently. 'Contract of apprenticeship. In simple terms, it means that in every generation following you and Tori, the current seat of your branch, or both your and Tori's branch in this case, will pick _some_ family members who will be completely inaugurated. It is possible to renew the family contract each generation, but it's not usually done. In the end, most branches default to the apprenticeship, some going so far as to induct only a singular scion.'

'But what's the difference?!'

'The difference, Daphne, is that those who are not inaugurated are never to know. That means that in families following a contract of apprenticeship, it's entirely possible that one parent and one child are inducted while the rest, for example other children or even the wife or husband, are completely in the dark.'

Daphne stiffened. 'And they can't tell their own husband?!'

'No, as I said, they physically can't; their tongue would roll up, they'd have to cough, spontaneous cramps – that sort of thing. As you might imagine, this kind of relationship can put serious strain on a person.'

'What happens if they desperately try anyway?'

There was something behind Harry's eyes, a sudden surge of emotion.

'Harry?' she asked again.

'They die.'

She stared into those jade green eyes, at once both repulsed and attracted. But then again, she thought, why would she ever do something to betray her family – to betray Harry. The notion alone was … absurd. Slowly, she nodded.

'But why would people choose this apprenticeship thingy over the family model?!'

Harry visibly winced at her use of the word model as if she were speaking about the latest Nimbus series, but he answered nevertheless. 'Because some people believe it to be safer. Keeping your family in blissful ignorance? That sort of thing. But that's not really of importance for you right now. Ophala explicitly asked for a family contract. You and Tori will each have to decide what to do with it in time.'

'What if something happens to both the apprentice and the mentor-person?'

Harry sighed. 'In that case, the family tries to enable the bereaved a comfortable life while quietly withdrawing. You might say that such a branch has reached its full size.' Spotting her momentary confusion, he added, 'Its end, Daphne.'

'Oh! That's kind of sad …'

'It is.'

'You sure seem to know a lot about this stuff …'

'Well, I'm Grandfather's heir. In a manner of speaking, you might consider me his ''apprentice'', though it doesn't work quite like that for the main family.'

Daphne frowned, rubbing her head. 'Until yesterday, I thought you being Arcturus heir simply meant that you would inherit the mansion.'

This time, Harry actually gave a short bark of laughter. 'Not quite. And it's mansion **s**.'

'What?! There's more than one?!' asked Daphne, amazed.

'Two more, though one isn't used very much. I can show them to you when this is all over.'

It took her a moment to realise and truly understand what Harry had said. 'Are there more secrets like that? Secrets you had to keep from me?'

'Yes.'

'And … will you be able to tell me more later?'

Harry nodded. 'Though there are some things I won't be able to tell you; like the identity of other branches, for instance.'

'Mm-hmm,' mumbled Daphne with a painful little smile. 'But you won't have to lie about yourself anymore?'

Again, Harry nodded.

This time, the smile came a bit more easily. 'That's okay, then.' Something else was bothering her, and since Harry seemed to be in an agreeable mood to answer questions … 'What happens to the children of the main family?'

'Well, the first generation is usually automatically bound by the same contract as all the branches. Though there can be,' he nodded meaningfully at her, 'special circumstances. Still, it doesn't necessarily mean that everyone sworn in by oath is necessarily involved in day-to-day activities.'

It took Daphne a moment to realise that he was alluding to her and Tori's situation. She'd never really thought about it. She had still been so young when her father had been murdered. 'They don't have a choice?' she asked in a hushed voice.

'Not exactly. More than a thousand years ago, the Blacks made a blood contract with themselves, ensuring that their direct offspring would never be able to betray them.'

'… Our ancestors were a bit psychotic, weren't they?'

'Well, those were suspicious times. But, yes, I suppose they were.'

They shared a short little chuckle. It felt good to laugh. 'And I really won't have to do any ninja-stuff?!'

Harry stared blankly at her, the grin turning into a quizzical frown. 'Ninja … stuff?'

'You know, spy-stuff. Nightly chases on rooftops, secretly poisoning the bad guys' drinks, playing poker with underworld bosses for millions of Galleons in a casino.'

Harry groaned, giving her a small slap on her shoulder. 'Merlin save me! Definitely no spy-stuff for you! And what's poker supposed to be?! Newer branches usually rest for a few dozen years anyway. The only thing that's going to change for you is that you'll be Daphne Black again – like you were meant to be, even if you won't be able to tell others.'

Daphne's heart soared. She knew he hadn't meant it quite like how she had chosen to interpret his words, but was that really so important? 'That doesn't sound too bad.'

'It's not.' Rolling his shoulders, Harry stood up. 'Come on. Take that shower you complained about. I'll take you out to get your mind off things.'

'But I thought we weren't supposed to leave the house until the contract is done …?'

Harry smirked mischievously. 'You aren't. So, want to come or not?'

Daphne laughed, hastily wiping her face, jumping up. 'Let's go!'

 _Memory Lane_

Harry was made to wait in Daphne's room while his cousin took a shower. He wasn't entirely convinced that she felt as relieved as she tried to project, but he could hardly blame her for feeling overwhelmed. There would be time to come to terms with the new facts of reality. He would need time, too. It was one thing to present a strong shoulder for Daphne to lean on, but Harry was by no means convinced; the ritual was dangerous.

True, one couldn't pick one's own family, so did it really matter if it was decided by birth or magic? And yet there was no denying that the magic involved most definitely was a curse … The girls _were_ related to him, had always been his family, but how would their descendants feel about their intertwined destiny in a hundred years, in five hundred years, in a thousand years?

With a sigh, he ran his wand through the air, drawing three circles, watching as the window sprang open to air the bedclothes. While he was at it, he cleaned the floor and dusted Daphne's books. Some of them ( _Fun Times with Household-Charms!_ or _Divination for Dummies_ ) looked as if they'd never been touched. Others looked so battered that Harry was quite reluctant to move them for fear of damaging the binding. _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ was so worn out by now that all that remained was a loose collection of smeared sheets, with large parts of the book jacket having been etched off.

Harry wrinkled his nose, absentmindedly rapping the book with his wand to repair at least some of the damage. Now that he had time to inspect the room in its entirety, it was hard not to realise how one of Daphne's latest interests seemed to dominate all others: Potions. All manner of ingredients (was that a Gorgon's eye?!) were littering the room, piling up on the desk – or any other convenient surface, for that matter: unicorn hair hanging over a tarnished poster of the Weird Sisters, some fluorescent algae Harry failed to recognise drying on the windowsill, lizard scales, partially ground, haphazardly stuffed away and now forgotten under some Potions periodical on the desk.

Harry sighed, scratching the back of his head. He was itching to tidy the place up, but – frankly – he was afraid of what he might find. Not to mention that it would probably be awkward to explain himself to Daphne if she spotted him sorting through some of her clothes.

'I really wish my daughter were as orderly as you.'

Ophala stood in the door, Astoria, partially concealed behind her mother, looking over her shoulder and waving wildly at him. Harry suspected that Tori hadn't come running already for fear of stepping into something. Daphne's room really was a mess.

'Well, at least her Potions marks are excellent.'

'Thanks for coming by, Harry. I really didn't know what to do; she just wouldn't listen!'

'No problem. I'll take her out for a bit. You don't mind, do you? I'll keep an eye on her, and we'll stay in Muggle London.'

Ophala put her hands on her hip, threateningly raising a ladle, though the effect was slightly ruined by her flowery apron and the warm eyes both of her daughters had inherited. 'Say, do you enjoy other people getting carpeted by your grandfather for your random acts of willfulness?'

'I admit it's part of the appeal,' replied Harry with a wink.

'Heavens, you can be so much like Sirius at times … Well, take care of her, won't you?'

Harry, dropping the grin, nodded solemnly.

'All right then. But the both of you will stay for lunch. You're much too thin, and Daphne hasn't had dinner or breakfast!'

Harry knew better than to argue about diet with a mother and simply nodded again. Ophala, with a dramatic shrug, left for the kitchen again.

'How are you, Tori?' he asked, levelling a concerned gaze at the younger sister.

Bringing herself to cautiously tiptoe into Daphne's room, Astoria gave Harry a brief hug and sat down next to him on her sister's bed. 'It's all a bit much, I guess. And I'm super nervous.'

'Well, that's to be expected.'

'It is, isn't it?!' She bit her lip, bouncing nervously from one side to the other. 'Is it okay if I ask you a question? I just can't get it out of my mind …'

'Of course, shoot!'

She took a deep breath to gather resolve. 'Will you … will you be disappointed if I don't make Slytherin?'

Harry blinked, surprised to realise that the question actually _did_ seem to be of stupendous concern to the girl. With a smile, he put a hand on her head. Tori, at least, was still smaller than him. 'It doesn't matter to me what house you get in, Tori. I know you'll be a credit to Hogwarts either way, and I really couldn't care less what the crest on your uniform says.'

This was apparently both exactly what Tori wanted to hear and too much at the same time, because she practically leapt into his lap, clutching him with a surprisingly strong grasp. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you …'

Harry gave an embarrassed laugh, patting Tori's back. Over the girl's shoulder, he could see the older sister leaning casually against the frame of the door, her hair still dripping wet, rolling her eyes at Tori's breakdown. But even with Daphne's feigned indifference, she couldn't entirely hide the traces of the smile that played about her lips.

 _Memory Lane_

Harry and Daphne wandered aimlessly through the streets of London, marvelling at the street performers, enjoying an enormous sundae that Daphne insisted on sharing, talking about this and that until Daphne jokingly proposed that they should – fittingly – watch an espionage thriller. Harry was thanking his lucky stars to have dodged a cheesy romance that Daphne, all of a sudden, strongly hinted she really wanted to watch with him. Considering the circumstances, he might even have given in, but the auditorium was – thank Merlin! – already packed to the last seat.

The film they ended up watching – Mission Improbable or something like that – was a blaze of confusion for Harry, who kept confusing who belonged with whom, asking his cousin all manner of questions like what exactly the CIA was supposed to be. Daphne only grinned, shushing him by leaning her head on his shoulder.

'That was really intense, don't you think?!' gushed Daphne, dragging Harry towards the exit of the cinema.

'Baffling more like,' muttered Harry.

Daphne laughed. 'You just need more exposure to Muggles. You can't learn everything from books!'

A few Muggles craned their necks at Daphne's loud exclamation but evidently decided that they were foreigners or not entirely right in the head.

At some point during their stroll, Daphne linked arms with Harry. Even though he usually only tolerated these kinds of things in private, Harry let it fly. In addition to being stumped about what to do without ruining Daphne's mood, he was loath to fuel her fear of abandonment. He had the nagging suspicion that his cousin was trying to milk the occasion for all it was worth, but seeing her brilliant smile, he just couldn't bring himself to say no – not even when one of those pesky street vendors insisted he should buy a rose for his 'gorgeous girlfriend'.

His resolve was finally challenged when Daphne pointed at a rather shabby little shop that was half booth half tent. A big sign over the entrance read:

 _'Madame Avenir's 200% accurate divinations! 30% discount for couples!'_

'Daphne, I really don't think we sh–'

'Oh, please!' whined the girl at his side, pressing his arm even more tightly to her side. 'Please, please, please!'

Harry groaned, suspiciously eyeing the cheap wooden sign that swung noisily in the wind and the black cat snoozing noisily underneath. He supposed the feline was part of the workforce in a way. It seemed as if 'Madame Avenir' was in the habit of feeding ravens as well – to add to the mysterious atmosphere, Harry suspected. Sadly, the one emaciated raven she'd managed to attract was having trouble competing with an entire swarm of pigeons that kept hogging the corn.

Warily, Harry eyed the raven. It really was a scrawny, piteous little thing. Surely, it couldn't–

'Pretty please, Harry? Come on, don't tell me you're afraid of women _and_ birds now.'

'I'm _not_ afraid,' hissed Harry, looking around nervously.

'All the better, _darling_!' teased Daphne. 'Then let's go get our relationship soothsaying thingy.' Raising her arms for effect, she continued in a strangely impressive fake voice, 'Do me this boon, and I shall release you from your baneful suffering!'

Harry rubbed his unclasped arm to get the blood flowing again. 'All right, all right …'

'You're the best, darling!' squealed Daphne happily, pecking him on the cheek.

Harry groaned once more as Daphne held up the flap that served as one half of the entrance to the tent. Stony-faced, he walked inside.

The air was smouldering hot. The overwhelming aroma of cheap lavender oil and incense assaulted Harry's nose like a fatal one-two punch. Two cheap wicker chairs stood in front of a massive slab of granite held up by two stacks of books. On the other side of the makeshift table sat a woman, Madame Avenir, he presumed. She wasn't, however, what Harry had imagined. True, she did wear the fake pearl necklace one sort of expected, and she was wearing huge glasses that didn't seem to have any prescription values. She was even wearing a foreign-looking hairnet to boot, and half a dozen huge fake gems set in bronze glittered on her stubby fingers.

''Ey up! C'm'ere! C'm'ere! Aye, ou'nt start while yer sit, ey?'

But nothing in the world could have reconciled the outfit with the thick Yorkshire dialect Harry could hardly understand.

'Yer ne'n't worry, boy, c'm'ere! Clos'a doer, girl.'

'Doer?' repeated Harry weakly.

'Doer, boy. The door, flippin' 'eck! Put wood i'th'oil, flick a sneck, get it?'

'Can't say I do,' he muttered weakly.

Daphne, giggling, let the tent flap fall down again and closed the fragile wooden shutter.

Harry stiffly sank into the chair. His companion, still trembling with suppressed laughter, pushed her chair closer to Harry's before sitting down.

'She is, you know, speaking the King's, isn't she?' hissed Harry from the corner of his mouth. 'I barely understand a word she's saying!'

'I hear yer, boy! T'alright, I'll try speakin' slow for the mardy chuff with the ivy bush.'

'… Pardon me?'

With a nasty grin that revealed more gold than a common jewel box, she leant forward, suddenly appearing much more businesslike. 'So what'll it be? One fortune or two? Just so yer know, one's fifty bones. For a couple that's seventy.'

Harry frowned. 'Didn't the sign say that couples are thirty per cent cheaper?'

'Right you are, boy. But a couple's still two people, innit?'

Harry had half a mind to leave again. 'This is such a sca–'

Daphne's elbow, however, mercilessly cut him off. 'We'll take the couple offer, please.'

'Good-oh, pretty miss.'

The woman turned around, rummaging in a ragged moving box behind her chair. To Harry's disbelief, she produced a fairly unremarkable-looking mirror. She made a great show of setting it carefully on the table while surreptitiously trying to dust it off. She needn't have bothered; the old silver had long started to tarnish.

She stared at Daphne, widening her eyes madly. 'I shall now look into the depth of thy mind,' she chanted impressively. 'Touch the mirror, pretty miss, and we shall see the destiny reflected in the Mirror of Futures.'

Daphne, good-naturedly playing along, slowly leaned forward, forefinger outstretched. The moment her finger touched the glass, it shattered, razor-like shards tearing through the tent like a cross of bullets and swords.

'Ow! Crap, what the– ' cried Daphne, retracting her hand that immediately started bleeding profusely.

Harry was already on his feet, and he could feel the fury rising in him. Just barely he managed to refrain from pulling his wand on the stupid fraud. 'If that was your idea of an impressive display …' he growled through gritted teeth.

And yet, behind the table, the crone was staring with obvious confusion at Daphne and the remains of her mirror that was scattered around the tent. 'That wan't'er happen! That wasn't supposed ter happen! The mirror! What happened?! My mirror!'

With one last look of loathing, Harry escorted Daphne outside, rudely kicking the flap and the little wooden gate out of the way. He guided a rather distressed Daphne towards the first alley he spotted, fumbling in his pocket for the Portkey he'd made in advance.

'Come on, let's get out of here,' he muttered. 'Don't move your hand! We'll be able to heal it as soon as we're back.'

Daphne, tears of shock running down her extremely pale cheek, nodded, still refusing to let go of the now bloody rose.

 _Memory Lane_

By the time Ophala came sprinting into the lounge, Harry had already carefully removed most of the shards that had embedded themselves in Daphne's hand and fingers.

'Do you have some Essence of Dittany?' asked Harry calmly without looking up.

'W– What?!' stuttered Ophala. 'What happened, Harry? Are you all right, Daphne?!'

'Dittany, Ophala. I shall explain everything afterwards.'

'But– Yes, of course, we've got some. One second.'

'Will it scar?' whispered Daphne, biting her lip.

'No, don't worry. Dittany only scars if you're an imbecile and just slap it on the wounded tissue. You won't even be able to see anything by tomorrow. Just try to relax as best you can.'

Harry continued to work on Daphne's hand with Ophala hovering nervously in the background asking questions and Daphne putting on a brave face. Harry appreciated that his cousin really was a lot tougher with these kinds of things than her usual behaviour, or her appearance, might suggest – and that Ophala kept shooing her younger daughter away. Watching someone pick shards of glass from your mangled flesh couldn't have been a pretty sight, and it wouldn't be better with more onlookers.

'You're really good at that,' murmured Ophala full of wonder, watching as Harry traced the wounded tissue with his wand. Slowly – ever so slowly – the angry red, raw area was fading away. 'I doubt I could've done it that neatly.'

Daphne nodded emphatically.

'Thank you,' replied Harry. 'But it really wasn't all that difficult.' He shifted his grip on his cousin's hand, continuously muttering the healing charm under his breath, trying to ignore the twitches Daphne gave whenever his exhalation tickled her skin.

It didn't take longer than ten minutes all in all (even though Harry, through gritted teeth, would have to admit that Poppy could probably have done the same in half the time) until the only trace of the incident was the blood on Daphne's sundress – and her rose.

With a sigh of relief, he leaned back, rubbing his eyes. 'All done. Try to flex your hand a bit and tell me if it hurts or if the movement feels impeded.'

'No, everything's perfect. Thanks, you're the best!'

'I say! You know your household-charms, and you're even handy with healing. My, at this rate, you'll make a finer bride than both of my daughters combined, Harry,' said Ophala with a cheeky grin.

'Very amusing,' grumbled Harry. 'I'm afraid you'll have to do the clothes yourself. I'm no great shakes at vanishing stains – or vanishing anything at all to speak the truth.'

'Don't mind her, she's always like that,' said Daphne with a reprimanding glare at her mother.

'Oh my!' replied Ophala, clutching her heart as if her daughter's evil eye caused her physical pain. 'I see I'm interrupting the conclusion of your little date.'

Harry suddenly sat bolt upright in his chair.

'Mum!' whined Daphne. 'You're making this really awkward! Just go! Go!'

Ophala laughed, giving her daughter a little smack on the bum on her way out of the room. 'Dinner will be ready in half an hour. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!'

'Ack!' cursed Daphne. 'Why do parents have to be so embarrassing?!'

'… I couldn't say.'

'What? Oh, I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean it like that.'

'It's all right. I know you didn't.'

In the end, Harry couldn't really refuse to stay for dinner, and he enjoyed a boisterous meal with Ophala, Daphne, and Tori. Even though this was far from the first time he'd stayed over for a meal, he just couldn't get used to the relaxed and warm atmosphere. He enjoyed dining with his grandfather, but this was something different entirely: Ophala playfully teasing both of her daughters, Daphne boasting that she'd managed to drag him into the cinema (which, apparently, had been a long-standing bet between the girls), and Tori adding her two cents to everything being said, making fun of Daphne's horrible destiny if even fortune telling tools shattered at her touch. What really got Harry thinking was that, if not for Regulus' death, this kind of family gathering would surely have been occurring at least weekly for him.

'Harry?'

'Mm-hmm? Sorry, I wasn't paying attention.'

'I've been meaning to ask you, but I didn't quite know how to breach the subject. With the Azkaban breakout, well, have you heard anything from Sirius yet?'

Daphne and Tori, who had been in the middle of another heated but presumably meaningless fight, ceased their antics, watching him intently.

'Oh, are we allowed to talk about it now?' asked Tori with a grin, casually revealing to Harry the sisters' rather unusual restraint.

'We have no way of knowing,' said Harry. 'He hasn't come ringing yet at least. I suppose that means that he either didn't get away, is still without a wand and on the run, or hiding somewhere else.'

'I would like to have dinner like this with Uncle Sirius,' said Daphne.

'I don't really remember him,' complained Tori, apparently feeling outdone by her sister again. 'Is he fun?'

'I think the both of you would get along terrifically,' said Harry with a grin.

'Oh, dear me – please no! They'll burn down the house within the fortnight!'

'It's okay, Mum. I promise we won't.'

Harry laughed – even though it was kind of scary how earnest Tori's pledge to refrain from arson somehow was. But it _would_ be something to have dinner with Sirius and the remnants of his brother's family.

'It sure would be nice to have dinner again with Sirius – as family,' admitted Ophala with a soft smile, perfectly echoing Harry's thoughts.

Harry observed her from the corner of his eyes. Ophala had always been a very bright and cheerful woman. And even if the scars from the day of her husband's death had marred her beauty, Harry had never seen her as anything but strong and … luminous. But at that moment, with that wistful smile on her lips, he couldn't deny that Ophala Greengrass lived strong despite the great loneliness that had followed her savaged idyllic life.

Blazing like the sun to defy an ever-lasting night required a special kind of strength, a strength Harry envied.

Daphne and Tori were squabbling again, both trying to trump the other with wilder, fancier plans for a reunion dinner with their uncle. To Harry, they burned brightly, too.

'It really would be nice,' he admitted aloud.

 _Memory Lane_

Half an hour later, Harry was still struggling with his dessert (a huge but sinfully delicious cup of strawberry and elderflower trifle). Daphne had graciously decided to help him out while Ophala successfully goaded Tori into giving some neat charms for the kitchen another try since even Harry could do them.

'Say, Harry …'

Harry sleepily leaned back in his chair, finally admitting defeat. 'Hmm?'

'Do you have to leave tonight?'

Harry's brow furrowed. 'What do you mean?'

'I've had a really nice day, and I know you put up with a lot because you didn't want me to feel lonely …'

Harry, balancing his chair on its rearward legs, didn't reply.

'It's kind of funny, isn't it? I once told Granger that, from my perspective, you've always been the strong one and that I've been relying on your support. She didn't believe me, you know?'

Harry didn't know what to say, and so he said nothing, still playing with his chair.

'… As I said, I'm really, really grateful for today. But … but I don't want to be alone tonight. Not with what's coming tomorrow!'

It was at precisely this moment that Harry almost fell off the chair. 'Tori and Ophala are sleeping in the adjacent rooms, aren't they?' he pointed out with equal measures of reason and desperation.

'Don't be like that, Harry,' whispered Daphne reproachfully. 'You know that's not what I meant.'

'We're not children anymore,' remarked Harry, gesticulating wildly.

Daphne raised an eyebrow so eerily like Arcturus that Harry almost flinched. 'Oh, _really_?!' She sighed, putting a loose strand of her beautiful hair behind her ear. 'Look, despite what you may think … I–' She lowered her voice even further, shooting a furtive glance in the direction of the kitchen. 'As much as I've come to hate Gran, she always used to tell me stories how evil and dangerous blood magic was. You must know them, too, right? Herpo the Foul, Ekrizdis, and all those other terrible people? I can't stop thinking like that just because …' She bit her tongue, looking uncomfortable. 'You know back in our first year? In the storeroom? I was frightened back then – and I … I'm terrified right now. And not knowing what to expect only makes it worse! Please, can't you at least stay until I'm asleep? I'm not trying to be selfish right now, I just– I just don't know if I can make it through tonight on my own …'

Harry ran his hand over his face, rubbing the dazzle from his eyes. Daphne was still looking at him beseechingly when he raised his head.

He groaned. 'You really are a pampered little princess, aren't you?'

'Funny you should mention that,' replied Daphne, her expression of worry slowly breaking into a soft smile because she seemed to be able to tell from his tone that he'd given in. 'Only yesterday, Tracey and I were talking about how spoiled _you_ are.'

'Did you now?' he asked, frowning. 'How exactly am I spoiled?!'

'Are you seriously asking me that with those ridiculous robes you wore when you turned up still hanging in our cloakroom?'

'I like them because of how they look not because of how pricey they are!'

'Then how many robes do you own that cost less than seventy Galleons?!' asked Daphne with a triumphant grin.

'… That's not fair, it's not like I buy them, how would I know how much they cost? They just … turn up!'

'Harry,' said Daphne seriously, 'normal people buy their own clothes, you know? They don't have their elves order a half a dozen custom made every other week.'

Harry blinked. 'Er … right. Right. That's normal – is it?'

Deadpan, Daphne nodded.

'Oh … Okay.' After a thoughtful pause, he asked with a rueful grin, 'Could you please not mention that to Tracey or Draco?'

Daphne stood up, shaking her head. 'I'll keep it to myself. But you'll stay, won't you?'

Feeling as if he were agreeing to his own funeral, Harry nodded gravely.

'Thanks … Well, I'll get ready for bed. It really has been ages, hasn't it? You still know where everything is?'

Harry nodded again. 'I'll have a few words with Ophala and then head up.'

'Sure.' She pranced towards the hallway, stopping at the door to look over her shoulder one last time. 'Don't run, okay?'

'I know I'm not usually very … assertive, but you should know best that I hate nothing more than to go back on my word.'

Daphne rewarded him with another blindingly brilliant smile. 'I know.'

Tori had already fled the kitchen by the time Harry arrived, leaving Ophala to deal with the tableware.

'So,' she said without turning around, 'my daughter's talked you into staying for the night. Are you here to ask for my blessing? You're bolder than I thought, Harry.'

Harry was about to protest hotly, when Ophala turned around, her grin immediately giving away her jab. With a groan, Harry took a seat at the kitchen table. 'I only just realised; at this household, I really am the bottom-feeder. I don't have it in me to refuse whatever your girls want, and you … Well, let's just say I can tell why someone like Regulus would fall for you.'

Ophala laughed, offhandedly putting a mug of steaming hot chocolate in front of him. 'Truthfully, he kept wondering why. You won't believe how often he complained about Sirius to me – while complaining about me to his family. I kept making fun of him because of it, as a matter of fact – even years after we started going out.'

'I think Regulus had good instincts.'

'That's cute of you to say, Harry, but I always suspected he was just partial to my cooking,' quipped Ophala.

'Don't say something like that,' said Harry with a frown. 'I think you're an amazing person. He did show me photographs of your graduation though. I suppose it didn't hurt that you looked like a goddess.'

Ophala laughed again, pointing her wand at a pot on the stove. 'He became a lot cockier later on. He was quite uptight in school, you know. I mean, he had grace and manners, but he wasn't what you'd call a charmer. Anyway, beauty comes and goes, Harry,' she said, indicating one of the long scars that ran across her cheek.

'I don't think so,' he said earnestly. 'You're still a very beautiful person. No scar can take that away, especially no injury you took to protect your family …'

Ophala turned around, looking faintly surprised. 'I see not all Blacks are prudes. Here you are, chatting up the mother of the girl who's currently waiting for you in her bed upstairs.'

'W– what? That's not at all what–'

'Relax, Harry,' she said with another laugh. She sat down at the table, pointing her wand over her shoulder, animating the dishes to wash themselves. 'I had a very easy childhood. Compared to you, Daphne and Tori, or even Regulus; I had it really easy.' She sighed, taking a sip from her coffee. 'I only wish to give back what I got back then. But not all people are the same, Harry. You can't hammer iron into bronze.'

'What do you mean?'

'As I said, I had it easy. My mother is a detestable human being, but she was easy enough to deal with for me. Learning to smile when expected to smile, to dance, to entertain – I'm sure you know what I'm talking about; that was the extent of all things demanded of me. It might even have been everything that was of interest to her. It didn't take me long to figure out that I could do basically anything as long as I kept up appearances. Leading a respectable little pure-blood life – that was always all that mattered to my mother. My father was different, but he died early. Daphne … she's not equipped to handle such a person. I know both of my daughters very well, Harry, and I can tell you that Daphne is vulnerable, so very vulnerable. And because she knows this to be true, she acts tough with people she doesn't know or trust.'

'You're speaking about your mother again, aren't you?' asked Harry sombrely.

'Yes. Really, Daphne is so impulsive. If things continued the way they were heading, I have no doubt that my daughter would have pulled her wand on her own grandmother at some point. My mother is no sociopath, Harry, but she's prideful to a fault. If she believed Daphne to be a serious threat to her health or agenda, she'd kick her out of the family without a second thought. How would I protect her if that came to pass?! I'm convinced she'd do everything in her power to ruin Daphne's future. You know how many contacts she's made.

'I'm not happy, not happy at all with how things are going to be resolved. But I'll turn my claws against anyone who threatens my girls – even if that person happens to be my own mother. Tori and especially Daphne have had it rough – just like you. I'll see to it that they get every bit of happiness they can – no matter what.'

'If that's what you want, you definitely made the right decision …'

'I have no illusions about the Blacks, but I respect your grandfather's dedication to watch over his family. I don't care if I sell my soul to the devil. As long as my girls are safe and sound, I don't care at all.'

'They are Regulus' children to begin with,' Harry pointed out. 'I can't imagine grandfather would've just ignored whatever happened to them, and I can _promise_ you that I would've done anything in my power to help them.'

'I know, Harry, but what if I'm not around anymore? Or you? What if some obscure family interest of yours conflicts with helping Daphne and Tori? Could you promise me that under no circumstances anything would have happened that would have prevented you from helping them?'

Harry stared at his mug of, by now, tepid chocolate, remembering how his own unwillingness to choose one duty over another had led to so much unnecessary trouble only last summer. He had to concede the point. 'No.'

'It's all right, really. Daphne and Astoria were both born Blacks. My mother should never have taken that from them. I know Daphne, in particular, resented her for that, and I have a hard time blaming her for it. But what I actually wanted to say is this: Daphne needs you, Harry. Daphne only has Astoria, me, Tracey, and you – especially you. It's just us. She always tries to show off with you around, but she's still healing. Do you understand?'

Harry nodded.

'You really hurt her when you kept pushing her away during your first year …'

Harry sighed, shoving his mug away. 'Don't worry, it won't happen again.'

She looked into his eyes for a few moments before nodding. 'I've always considered you family, Harry, no matter what's going to happen tomorrow.'

Ophala stood up, smilingly shooing him out of the kitchen. 'Now up with you! You shouldn't keep a girl waiting – and thank you for staying for Daphne's sake.'

 _Memory Lane_

Harry had a wash, checked his borrowed clothes quite unnecessarily for shards of glass once more, changed leisurely into his own robes again, and wasted another ten minutes in the bathroom, walking in circles and hoping Daphne had already fallen asleep.

On soft feet, he crept along the walls towards Daphne's room, no sound betraying his presence. With extreme care, he slowly opened the door to spy what lay yonder.

Daphne, giving his half-crouched silhouette a patronising look, sat comfortably on her bed, blanket drawn up her chin, a recent publication of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers in her hands. The rose he had bought a few hours earlier had been set on her desk. Even though his cousin had obviously tried to clean the flower, a few splotches of blood still defiled the petals. Harry shivered, causing Daphne to scowl. 'What?'

'Nothing.'

It was freezing in Daphne's room. For some inexplicable reason, his cousin had decided to leave the window gaping wide open. Feeling the cold creep underneath his summer robes, Harry walked over to Daphne's bed, taking a seat on the very edge.

Daphne put her reading away and moved her pillow so that she could rest her head comfortably on Harry's lap. 'How many people will be there tomorrow?' she asked, not sounding sleepy at all.

'Just you three, Grandfather, me, and another two witnesses.'

'Witnesses?'

'Well, I've only ever read about the ceremony, but since it's such a tremendously important occasion, the covenant has, over time, slowly evolved to incorporate some … ritualistic elements.'

'You mean, like, verbiage and pretentious gestures?'

'More or less,' admitted Harry, unable to suppress a slight grin. 'Though I'd advise you to phrase it differently tomorrow.'

'Who are those other people?'

Harry ran his hand over Daphne's hair, watching her close her eyes with a happy little sigh. 'I'm sorry, I can't tell you.'

'Do I know them?' mumbled Daphne.

Harry wasn't entirely sure if she just wanted to keep him going or if she'd really gone so far as to suspect that she might know people who were part of the Blacks' very extended family. It was for two very contrasting reasons a worrying inquiry either way.

'I'm sure they're not the kind of people you'd expect,' he said eventually.

Daphne hummed ruminatively before asking, 'A hint?'

'Daphne …?' Harry muttered with the slightest hint of a warning.

'Joking! I'm only joking.' She opened her eyes, staring up at him.

Harry, trying his best to keep his teeth from chattering, calmly stared back.

Daphne's eyes darted to his momentarily trembling shoulders. 'How bad will it hurt?'

'I'm not going to lie; it will be painful, draining, and shocking.' Seeing her rising concern, he ran a finger two inches across his underarm to mimic a cut. 'This far – not longer! Do you understand? This far! Promise me you'll remember! No further – this far!'

'B– But I don't understand!'

'You don't need to right now. Promise!'

She looked in confusion at his eyes, failing to understand. 'I promise,' she whispered.

He sighed, feeling immensely relieved. 'The wound will heal momentarily, but due to the nature of the magic involved, the mark will be visible for a few weeks. You'll have to wear charmed bandages to conceal it. More relevantly, you'll feel exhausted and weak for a few days a– afterwards but that's about it. Anyway …' he continued, trying to gloss over the treasonous stutter, but Daphne had none of it.

Her hand, swathed in a tantalising hint of satin, shot out from under the blanket, grabbing his exposed arm. 'You're freezing!' she said with the tone of a serious accusation.

'I– I'm fine.'

'Harry, you're literally shaking from the cold!'

'Merlin, fine! Why did you leave the window open like that?!'

'I like sleeping with a lot of fresh air,' she replied mysteriously. 'Come on!' She held up one edge of the blanket. 'I won't bite.'

With a sigh, Harry made to lie down on the edge of the bed, but Daphne's glare froze him in place. 'Harry, you're still wearing your shoes!'

Obediently, Harry took off his shoes and socks.

'… and I won't allow you under the blanket with the clothes you wear all day!'

'What?!'

'You heard me. Use your common sense!'

'But I sat on your bed with my robes on just _seconds_ ago!'

'That was then. And sitting isn't the same!'

Harry had never regretted his lack of prowess with conjuration more than right at that moment. For a few seconds, he hesitated – until Daphne raised another mocking eyebrow. 'What – want me to turn away?'

'You're _really_ used to getting your way, aren't you?' said Harry reproachfully.

Daphne merely grinned.

Uncomfortably aware of Daphne's unabashed gaze, he pulled his robes over his head, folding it with unnecessary fussiness. When he turned around, Daphne was still smiling at him.

After a few wobbly seconds of uncertainty and embarrassment, he stripped out of his trousers faster than he'd ever done before, practically diving for the blanket.

Daphne, giggling, made space for him. 'I'm afraid you won't be able to be the best bride ever anymore, Harry – now that you've been seen in your underwear. Scandalous!'

'Funny,' grumbled Harry, lying stiffly on his back.

Seemingly unaffected by the situation, Daphne turned on her right shoulder, away from him but snuggling close. 'How long do you think it's been since we last slept together like this?' she mumbled.

'Five years?' Harry guessed, still staring at the ceiling.

'I've, you know, always slept best with someone to cling to.'

Daphne sneaked her hand around, taking his left hand in hers, drawing it over her. The rest of Harry's body followed naturally. Every muscle suddenly seemed on edge, and he could feel her body heat through her decidedly too thin nightgown. She was so close, he was reluctant to even breathe. Every breath he took was awash with the flowery perfume of her hair, her very own secret scent.

Daphne's soft hand clasped around his, bringing it all the way around to her front, where she clutched it with both of her hands as if her life depended on it. Harry felt his tongue go dry.

'Harry?' she asked, sounding as if she wanted to make sure he was still here.

'Yeah?'

'You … you never told me what my father said to you that day.'

Unbidden, ghosts of the past whispered eerie echoes of old vows into Harry's ears. _Promise me!_

Harry could feel every breath Daphne took, her hands still clutching his over her bosom. _Promise me!_

The words he wanted to say got stuck in Harry's throat. 'What are you talking about?' he croaked instead.

Daphne's nails dug painfully into his hand, drawing him even closer to her, her entire body nestled to his, her voluptuous bottom pressing against his–

 _Bad Harry!_

Harry felt as if he had a fever, and he didn't know what to do with his hand that was pressed against Daphne's bust. What was it you usually did with hands?! Were they always such useless, needlessly twitchy fleshy things?

He lay there, trying to hold on to his slipping sanity, desperately picturing the ugly old hag he'd seen down Knockturn Alley last week or even chilly winter mornings until – despite the turmoil of his feelings – he finally realised that Daphne was trembling even underneath the blanket.

It took him another moment to realise that she wasn't cold.

Feeling disgusted with himself, he pulled her closer on his own accord, holding her fast, waiting for the tears and the fears and the nightmares of the past to dissolve in his embrace.

'It'll be all right,' he muttered into her ear. 'I'm still here, it'll be okay, you'll see.'


	49. ML: Similarity in difference

**Similarity in difference**

* * *

'I said I'm sorry!' whined Daphne, glaring at her sister and mother, who both seemed entirely _too_ preoccupied with eating or cooking to not be eavesdropping. Why did her sister have to be up so early?!

Harry, looking up from under his still wet mop of hair, didn't respond.

'I really, really, really _am_ sorry!' emphasized Daphne, lowering her head and making an apologetic gesture with her hands. It was true; she really _was_ sorry – sorry that she'd missed all of what Harry had reluctantly described as a night of unrelenting sexual harassment. 'Tracey mentioned I was clingy in my sleep, but I didn't think it'd be that bad … I swear!'

Harry sighed, staring through droopy eyes at the cup of strong tea Daphne's mother had put in front of him. 'Doesn't matter. It's not like I was harmed and – luckily, I might add – neither were you.'

'You're pretty adamantine for a young man, Harry,' commented Ophala with a smirk as she set down the frying pan. 'But I guess it's all fair considering how you fell asleep on my daughter last year.'

'Mum!'

Truthfully speaking, Daphne was disappointed that the opportunity of a lifetime had gone to waste just because she hadn't been able to keep her damnable mouth shut, asking stuff she wasn't prepared to hear the answer to. And – surprise! – she'd completely lost it. She'd even got up the nerve to wear the negligée she'd bought with Tracey, and hadn't _she_ been annoying about it, asking questions and being nosy.

She'd promised to tell Tracey when she wore it _for effect_ , as they'd agreed to call it, but how the hell was she supposed to tell her best friend that she'd tried to push her luck with Harry, especially Harry, but ended up crying for half an hour before enjoying the best and deepest sleep ever? Then again, she couldn't shake off the impression that Tracey had already surmised that she'd bought the more than risqué nightgown with Harry in mind, no matter how much Daphne had protested the notion.

Right then and there, Daphne decided to deny the whole tragedy until her dying breath. Harry certainly wouldn't tell anyone, of that she was sure. It was kind of cute, though, that he hadn't been able to slip away because he hadn't wanted to disturb her.

… and, given the state he was in, wasn't it a success so far as to reminding him that she was a girl no more?

'Daphne, you're drooling!'

Daphne gave a start, looking around with confusion, wiping her face with panic. 'What the–'

Seeing her mother's expression, Daphne realised that she, at least, completely understood – and probably wouldn't let it lie _ever_. 'Stop daydreaming,' Ophala continued with a wink. 'We're expected in less than three hours.'

'So early?!' groaned Daphne.

'Do we have to do something?' asked Tori excitedly. 'We don't have to drone some mystic vows or something, do we?'

All eyes concentrated on Harry. It took him a while to realise they were all staring at him, but then he shook his head. 'Er, no. After the formal introduction, it's pretty much just agreeing in spirit. The rest is just long-winded waffle owing to centuries of pomposity.'

 _He really must be tired,_ thought Daphne, amused.

'Harry!' Ophala admonished the future Lord Black. 'What would your grandfather say?!'

Harry laid his head upon the table, closing his eyes. 'He'd say it's okay to let your guard down with your loved ones …'

They all stared at Harry.

'Aww …' Tori sighed dreamily.

'Come on,' whispered their mother, her frown turning into a fond smile. 'Let him snooze for a bit. We'll wake him when it's time.'

 _Memory Lane_

'And I'm supposed to wear that?!' asked Daphne with horror, pointing at the plain, boring, and extremely cheap white linen robes.

'Yes,' said Harry curtly, his voice sounding through the door. 'They're very simple robes, but that's the whole point. There's a lot of symbolism involved, but – frankly – I don't think you'd appreciate me explaining it, so I won't bother.'

Daphne had to admit that he wasn't wrong.

'But linen?' protested Daphne again, hugging her naked figure and making a face. 'It's scratchy!'

'I dare say you'll survive a few hours. Grandfather and I'll be dressed in similar black robes. I'm already wearing mine; it isn't so bad.'

'Can't I wear something nice and soft underneath?' whined Daphne.

'No, just those robes and the sandals.'

'Nothing else at all?!'

'Well, there is one exception …'

'Yes?'

'If you feel like adding a touch of individuality, you can bear arms.'

Daphne stared with unseeing eyes at the white robes Harry had laid out for her until something clicked in her mind. 'What – like, swords?!'

'One sword and a sidearm, to be exact. But if you want to dress up sharp and impress everyone with your epee, you're very welcome to do so.'

'But I don't own a sword!'

'I'm afraid it's going to be just the robes then.'

'Who cares about swords?! What about underwear!?'

She heard Harry sigh from behind the door. 'Just the robes, Daphne,' he repeated patiently for the umpteenth time. 'No ornament, no hair-band, no makeup, no earrings – nothing. That's why I told you not to do your hair. Keep everything as simple as possible. You're not even allowed a wand holster – or your wand, for that matter.'

'But swords are okay?!'

'Don't ask me. Maybe someone complained really loudly until they just let them have their wish to shut them up. I suppose there are those persistent types,' said Harry with uncalled-for cynicism.

Daphne let it slide for now. This was more important. 'But why?!'

'Well, in addition to expressing humility and the slightly ironic willingness to forgo worldly possessions and rank, the actual ceremony after the greeting is meant as an accord of people on equal footing without the burdens of profanity. The vows given are to be bare truth, so – naturally – the people involved need to be true to themselves fi–'

'It was a rhetorical question!' snapped Daphne, irritated.

She heard him chuckle through the door. 'I know.'

'You're not doing this out of revenge, are you?'

'No, not this time. As I said, I'm wearing practically the same robes right now. Well, best get to it, or we'll be late. I'll check up on Tori. See you downstairs!'

Daphne continued to grumble and voice her displeasure, but with nobody to listen to her ramblings, she soon began to tire of her own whining. Peevish, she started dressing in what she felt was a fashion affront even paupers would surely turn their noses up at. It wasn't even much of a robe, she thought viciously, hardly better than a bit of dyed gunny sack. The sandals, too, appeared to be plain old cardboard with two ugly, raw leather strings attached. That the almost mythically wealthy Blacks of all people insisted on this crazy charade was … beyond weird. Wasn't it more expensive to find these almost religiously cheap clothes than to buy normal stuff? Who even _made_ these pieces of cheap trash Harry had the nerve to call robes?

At least they were new. Daphne didn't know how she'd feel about the robes if heaven knew how many people had worn them already – starkers! The whole going commando thing was weird enough as it was. The only thing holding the robes in place was a single belt-like string of cloth. Daphne checked it five times before she was finally at least half-convinced it would hold.

She slipped into her 'sandals', taking a few experimental steps. They were about as comfortable as they looked, but what could she do about it? With a dramatic sigh, she opened the door and descended the stairs.

Harry and Tori were already waiting for her. Her little sister, wearing the exact same white robes, appeared completely unfazed, laughing about some silly remark or joke she'd told Harry, looking as if she were about to head out on a Sunday stroll through the freak-park for badly dressed witches.

Harry, on the other hand, looked sombre and … great. She wouldn't have believed it possible, but the simplistic, austere dark garment sort of suited Harry, who looked dignified and lordly despite, or perhaps because, of what he wore.

He gave a little smile when he saw her enter. 'See? They're not so bad.'

Daphne wrinkled her nose. 'Speak for yourself.' It wasn't only the garment; her hair was giving her trouble, too. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cut more than the ends. She knew Harry adored long hair, but no matter how much of a weapon in her fight for his attention it usually was, right now, blowing around uselessly, tickling her skin, getting into her eyes, it really was a royal pain in the arse.

'I see you're all ready?' Her mother stood in the door, dressed in identical robes of pure, dull white.

'It feels a bit like going out on All Hallows' Eve!'

Daphne, by force of will, managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. 'Yes, Tori.'

'Let's get going,' said Harry.

'Are we going by Floo?' asked Tori. 'Our nice robes will get all dirty!'

Daphne managed to turn her derisive laugh into a cough, earning a stern look from her mother.

Harry seemed merely amused. 'That would be tragic, wouldn't it, Tori? Especially since Daphne seems to like them so much!'

Tori sniggered. 'We should get her a set for her birthday next week!'

'I dare you!' snarled Daphne.

Daphne's mother cleared her throat meaningfully. 'I believe we were about to get going, yes?'

Harry nodded, looking around the living room. 'Aha!' With a smug expression, he picked up one of the comics Tori usually scattered all over the house. 'Can I borrow this, Tori?'

Tori shrugged. 'Sure, I read it ages ago.'

'Harry,' said their mother with a hint of apprehension, 'don't tell me yo–'

' _Portus!'_ His figure highlighted against the cyan flash of light, Harry turned to look at their mother. 'You were saying, Ophala?'

'… You wouldn't listen to me if I told you to stop that since you're not seventeen _or_ a licensed specialist of the Ministry, would you? Portkeys can be dangerous!'

'Not a chance.'

'That was awesome!' gushed Tori. 'Show me how to do it later, Harry!'

This time, Daphne did roll her eyes. Her little sister wasn't stupid but asking Harry to explain the Portkey Charm was like asking someone who played the piano since they were three how they knew which keys to hit.

'Tori,' said Harry, his playful expression turning demure, 'I know you enjoy playing the fool, but what comes now is no joke. Just do as you're told, don't speak unless spoken to, and be polite. I know you took etiquette lessons – even if you hated them.'

'All right,' agreed Tori at once – to Daphne's utter amazement. 'But you have to go to the cinema with me as well this summer!'

Harry put a hand on top of her head, giving it a rub. 'It's a deal.'

Tori looked a bit conflicted about being treated like a child despite being fourteen, but she took it in stride, grinning like an idiot.

'Is there anything else, Harry?' asked Ophala.

'No. At first, nothing except simple greetings will be expected of you and your girls. But you should be warned that the site of the ritual is hidden. I'm unsure what approach Grandfather is taking to facilitate us moving there without you being the wiser but be prepared for something.'

Daphne could see her sister's eyes light up in excitement, but, mysteriously, she seemed to be able to quell her annoying nature quite easily if motivated properly. It was almost frightening how readily she did as Harry told her. Then again, was Daphne one to talk?

Harry lazily pointed his wand at the comic-turned-Portkey, and the little magazine started floating over, slowly revolving around its own axis and spinning along its length. He made it look so _simple_. Daphne doubted her little sister realised that Harry, just for the fun of it, had to be using four different charms – at the same time and wordlessly. He didn't even seem to be paying attention to what was undoubtedly beyond OWL-level.

'Take a hold of each other,' he said.

Daphne, with a smirk, put one arm around Harry's waist, and Tori – predictably – followed suit.

'Well, that works, too,' muttered Harry.

Their mother took Daphne's and Tori's hands, looking as tense as any of them.

'Ready?' asked Harry.

They all nodded in unison.

'Then let's go.'

With a flick of his wand, the magazine shot a few inches into the air, far enough for Harry to stow his wand in his sleeve and catch the falling comic with mesmerising grace.

The sound of a whistle, the feeling of being dragged through a hundred cold waterfalls – and they smoothly landed in the second parlour of Black Manor.

 _Memory Lane_

Daphne, who had prepared herself for a rough ride, almost stumbled because the landing was so gentle that she could have brought her cup of tea and not wasted a drop.

'I suppose I'd better not ask how in Merlin's name you made such a smooth Portkey?!' asked Ophala with a sigh.

'I practised a lot this summer!' said Harry, flashing a cheeky grin.

'That's what I feared …'

Harry chuckled. 'We should find Grandfather first.'

'Harry! Harry! There you are,' called one of the ancient portraits Daphne didn't recognise. 'Arcturus is expecting you all in the blue saloon.'

'Thank you, Alphard.'

The portrait bowed deeply towards Harry and, to Daphne's surprise, made a much simpler bow towards them as well. Nervously, Daphne reciprocated the gesture, elbowing her sister to follow her example.

Daphne had been at the mansion often enough, but she couldn't remember being bowed to even _once_. The ancient Blacks weren't the kind of people to show respect easily; they were the ones to command it.

Harry stopped only when they stood in front of the door Daphne knew would lead to their destination. 'Brace yourself. The first part will be somewhat tedious.'

He turned to look over his shoulder, catching their eyes. 'You both remember how to participate in ceremonial greetings?'

'Oh, no! You don't mean one of _those_ meetings?!' groaned Daphne.

'Yes, I do. Have I been unclear? You'll manage, won't you?'

 _Merlin's pants!_ thought Daphne with some amount of panic. _I thought he said_ simple _greetings_. How could Harry be so casual about what was essentially the Wizarding equivalent to Muggles attending a banquet with royalty?! True, she'd learned that stuff years and years ago, but she'd never been required to actually use any of it. The only occasion for those rites that was still around – if vastly outdated and dying – that her teacher had mentioned were negotiations for contracted betrothals. This was _weird_. Biting her lip, she gave an insecure nod.

'Er,' mumbled Tori sheepishly. 'I, er …'

'Follow your sister's and mother's example, and you'll do fine. I know you will. Don't speak unless asked _and_ addressed specifically _,_ don't touch anyone unless the gesture is initiated by someone else, bow depending on perceived social rank,' said Harry with a dismissive wave as if he did this sort of thing every Friday afternoon. 'Ready?'

Ophala gripped both her and Tori's shoulders, and Harry, with a grandiose gesture, pushed both wings of the door open at once, boldly striding inside.

The man she was supposed to call Lord Black but who would probably always remain Uncle Arcturus was indeed waiting for them, standing near the far end of the room. He just stood there, no chair in sight, as if impressively standing in empty halls was a very casual thing to do. Just as Harry had said, he was wearing the same style of robes as his grandson, and just like him, an air of grandiosity clung to him that not even the parsimonious robes could diminish. He was old, Daphne didn't even know exactly how old, but no matter how sunken his face, how pale his skin, how much he leaned on his cane, he seemed to possess an odd kind of strength that no boy at Hogwarts did. Still, he wasn't wearing the same kind of grandfatherly face she was familiar with from her childhood. Maybe this was the face of Lord Black instead.

Slightly behind and flanking him, wearing equally mean but grey linen robes, stood two veiled female figures. One looked plump and crooked. The second one, however, seemed to be around Daphne's height – if decidedly leaner. To put it bluntly, it took Daphne a second glance to ascertain that the little bulges on her robes were more than misleading creases. She felt grateful that, at the very least, she didn't have to worry about that part of her appearance.

Neither of them gave so much as a nod in their direction, though they lowered their gaze at Harry's approach.

Harry stopped in the middle of the room, still almost fifteen yards from the other group, respectfully performing a neck bow, honouring his grandfather and the two women, the latter of whom returned the bow with even more pronounced deference.

Daphne stopped dead in her tracks three paces behind Harry, immediately following with a deep bow from her waist up, just like her mother, nervously staring at her feet. Tori, lagging slightly behind, tried to emulate them as best she could.

Nobody spoke.

During formal meetings, and Daphne wasn't sure she'd ever witnessed a meeting more archaic and formal in her entire life, it was customary for the one perceived to have the highest social standing to initiate what was mockingly called pleasantries. Harry had once told her that a great many feuds – even wars – had been fought between families because they hadn't been able to come to an agreement on who actually _was_ whose better, because they hadn't been able to settle on to whom to cede the honour of speaking first.

Lord Black generously inclined his head for a fraction of an inch – and more silence followed.

Daphne felt skittish, uncomfortably aware of how the linen rubbed her skin, wondering and worrying if her sister could keep her mouth shut for a while. In Muggle-speech, this was as wild as participating in a show about 18th-century aristocracy, and they really could do without Tori yelling something asinine like 'Wicked!' at the top of her voice.

The second part of the introduction would begin only when the one chosen to preside deemed it necessary, and the speaking would largely fall to that person. A small mercy; Daphne had a feeling she wasn't exactly about to hear some chav-English.

'My name is Arcturus, and I speak for the Blacks. I bid you welcome to our home. You may raise your head.'

Slowly, Daphne did as she had been told.

'I am grateful for the hospitality you offered to one of mine,' Arcturus went on, barely lifting his hand to indicate that he meant Harry. 'And I shall be glad to extend to you the same courtesy.'

Once more, he inclined his head for the most carefully calculated fraction of an inch.

Harry turned around, performing a slightly more elaborate bow in their direction. He would have been allowed to speak, but he either didn't want to prolong this more than necessary, or he wanted to express that he had nothing to add to the head of his family.

 _And bow …_ thought Daphne. _At least … fifteen per cent, I think, deeper than your next social superior. Since our whole family has entered the conversation as the supplicant, that's Harry, right?_

And so they bowed once more, deeper than Harry, who himself inclined his head further than Arcturus, waiting. It was only when Arcturus finished his glorified nod that Harry completed his bow and – in turn – they were allowed to raise their heads again.

Daphne didn't envy the women in grey. They weren't part of the formal conversation and – as such – could not be verbally relieved of paying respect. But since moving wasn't a thing with these types of _highly_ contemporary greetings, and the axiomatic rule of pure-blood etiquette demanded the act of bowing, they would have to keep at it for however long this 'talk' would last …

And last it did.

Every exchange, every bestowal of honour was to be preluded and followed by an elaborate rite. It took almost ten minutes just to formally introduce Harry as Arcturus' heir and another twenty to fully present Daphne's family. Luckily, her mother did all the talking; Daphne wasn't sure she'd nail the rather pretentious formal speech Uncle Arcturus and Harry were adhering to as if it was, at most, a minor inconvenience. Then again, she'd heard both of them talk to each other on occasion, and that could be weird as hell too …

After a lot more bowing, Uncle Arcturus took two demonstrative steps forward. Daphne saw Harry relax slightly out of the corner of her eyes. With confusion, she looked at her sister and mother.

'It's over,' said Ophala with a warm smile. 'The both of you did well.'

'What? Just like that?' asked Tori, looking around in bewilderment. 'How?! What happened?!'

But, apparently, it really was over. Both of the women raised their heads, the lean one audibly groaning, massaging her shoulders. And as for Harry – he was walking over to Arcturus, speaking a few hushed words. The head of House Black nodded, gripping his arm.

Together with Harry, he approached the Greengrasses. 'I'm glad you could make it. Might I be permitted to say that both of your daughters are becoming more beautiful by the day, Ophala?'

'I think they might be a touch too young for you,' retorted Daphne's mother.

Daphne froze, and so did Astoria, staring wide-eyed at their mother. After a terribly drawn-out second of silence, Harry began to chuckle.

'Ah, yes,' said Arcturus calmly. 'It really has been too long. I'd almost forgotten that fiery spirit of yours. I'm glad to see it burning brightly still.'

Daphne was still staring at the woman in the back, trying to figure out whom she reminded her of. Arcturus gave both Tori and Daphne a much more common, unsophisticated little bow which they hastily returned. 'It's been quite a while since you last stayed over, Daphne. I still remember vividly how you would chase Harry around the mansion every day, you know? The mansion grew rather silent in your absence. Did even you grow tired of chasing eventually?'

Daphne stared into those grey, knowing eyes, unsure if the double meaning was intended. 'He's got harder to catch,' she replied cautiously.

Arcturus' eyes twinkled kindly. With a gentle nod, he addressed Tori. 'And you, Astoria? How are you?'

'I'm fine, er, sir?'

Harry sniggered mischievously. 'Sir, she said, Grandfather!'

Arcturus looked, incredibly, almost embarrassed. 'You don't need to bother with that, my dear child. I know circumstances have prevented us from meeting very often, but you _are_ my great-grandchild. Don't make an old man feel even older by addressing me so formally.'

Daphne wasn't entirely sure this was a wise course of action. Despite the lowered tension, this was definitely still a part of very formal proceedings, and if her sister started calling Lord Black 'gramps', it might be time to scarper.

'I suggest Uncle Arcturus!' said Harry with a wink at Daphne, who made a face at him behind her mother's back. 'That's what your sister's taken a liking to.'

'Oh, er, all right, Uncle Arcturus?' said Astoria, looking from Harry, to Arcturus, to Daphne.

'You must have been bored right now, Astoria?' asked Arcturus.

'I, er …' Astoria, finding help in Harry's eyes, wisely refrained from speaking her mind. With more tact than Daphne would have thought possible, she replied, 'It wasn't too bad. Strange, though. My teacher said these kinds of greetings weren't a thing anymore.'

Arcturus nodded, satisfied. 'They are almost forgotten by now, young lady, and not even we perform them regularly – no matter how it might have looked. I assure you Harry's matutinal greeting is rather along the lines of a stiff bow and a grumbled ''morning''.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Then yours would be the rustling of paper, Grandfather.'

Arcturus chuckled at Astoria's disbelieving expression. 'He's not wrong,' he admitted. 'I know you must have been bored, and it must have seemed strange, but can you make a guess why we still keep these old ways around?'

'Well,' said Tori nervously. 'It'd be kind of sad if they just died out, wouldn't it?'

'I would have to agree, but others might argue that it's necessary for the old to make way for the new. Things change, Astoria, that's one of the fundamental truths of life. Clinging to the past for fear of change is like trying to stem the tide with your bare hands; eventually, you're sure to lose – eventually, the merciless forces of time will grind even the stoniest resistance to just a few more grains of sand on the beach of neglect. The human mind isn't equipped to think of time as a flowing thing. It needs the concept of a ''present'' as a crutch to help overcome the terrible truth of the meaninglessness of every single moment we live. But if each moment is as unreal, as fleeting as the next wave rolling towards the shore, what is there to give context to our lives, what is there to ground us, to tell us who we are? If the future is yet to happen, and the present infinitesimal, what is there for us to observe?'

Tori furiously furrowed her brow. 'The … past?'

Arcturus smiled proudly. 'Well done, young lady. In truth, it's rather more complicated than that, but there can be no doubt that comprehending the present, as fleeting as it may be, is all but impossible without studying the past. A friend of my father once told me this: fostering traditions isn't about trying to revive the ashes – but to share the flame. It is my hope that you'll be one of the torches once my time is up.'

Astoria nodded politely, but Daphne could tell at a glance that Lord Black's words had gone over her head. She didn't blame her. When Harry or Uncle Arcturus really got started, you were usually left with a lot of fancy words and a state of befuddlement.

'Before we proceed, you must have been wondering about our guests in grey? I'm afraid I'm unable to disclose their identities, but you may rest assured that they are family. I vouch for them with my life,' he said sombrely, adumbrating a bow towards the women.

In unison, they bowed back.

'But now we shall guide you towards the place where the ritual is to take place. I dare say Harry has mentioned that we won't be able to disclose its location?'

Ophala and Daphne nodded. Tori didn't react at all, apparently still struggling to unravel the mystery of Uncle Arcturus' words.

'Excellent.' Without looking back, Uncle Arcturus made a little flick with his hand, gesturing for the lean woman in the back to approach. She walked over silently, producing a casket of phials. A slow clockwise swirl of violet and blue, almost nebulous, was contained within the crystal glass, and Daphne could practically taste the valerian through the bottle. The swirl was stunningly pure and light – a work of art.

'They look like Forgetfulness Potions,' Daphne breathed excitedly. 'And they're beautifully made …'

Arcturus turned around, looking at her with surprise. 'And that's exactly what they are, Daphne. Well done.'

She was glad that her little uncalled-for observation seemed to garner approval instead of admonishment. Seeing her inquisitive glance, the Lord of the Blacks continued, 'Everyone except Harry and me is to take a sip of these. While normal Forgetfulness Potions, as our young potion mistress here is sure to know, will work similar to a Memory Charm, these have been modified to inhibit the ability to store memories. I find them to be a safer and more tactful alternative to obliviation. You shall simply not be able to recall how we get to where we're going. I assure you it's perfectly safe. I've already ascertained that only Harry and I are currently in possession of our wands, but – to demonstrate the sincerity of our words – we shall both leave them up here _before_ you drink the potion.'

Harry respectfully offered his wand to Arcturus, who wrapped both Harry's and his own in a bundle of silk. With a snap of his fingers, one of their elves appeared. 'You are to take this bundle and place it carefully in my study, Kreacher. None of you or anyone else is to disturb us within the next hour. Keep _all_ visitors confined to the rooms they arrive in.'

'Yes, master,' returned the elf, vanishing with a bow.

'And now,' said Arcturus, 'the potions.'

Daphne stared apprehensively at the delicate hands of the veiled woman in front of her.

'They won't last longer than five minutes, Daphne,' said Harry, revealing his uncanny knack of reading her thoughts from her expression.

She nodded, taking one of the phials she was offered, staring dreamily at the potion within. The substance was almost too beautiful to be drunk. The only potions she'd ever seen this close to perfection were the very potions Professor Snape had shown them during their first ever lesson. They hadn't been made by the same hand, she could tell, but they were leagues above anything she'd seen ever since.

'It is time,' said Arcturus. 'Please drink.'

And she drank. A soothing, cool sensation washed over her, but she felt no different than before. 'How can we tell if it works?' she heard herself asking.

Astoria, with a grin, walked up to her. 'One way to find out – hey!'

'What?' replied Daphne, squinting at the little devil suspiciously.

'You're a cow! Stop shoving your udder in Harry's face all the time! It's annoying!'

Daphne felt the heat of anger and embarrassment rise to her face, but before she could do more than angrily snarl, 'Why, you little–', Uncle Arcturus calmly raised his hand, putting an early end to both the ensuing fight and their mother's embarrassed ramblings about how sorry she was.

With the barest hint of a grin, he said, 'My dear Astoria, I'm afraid the potion will need a minute or two to take effect. I suggest you make use of that time by apologising to your sister.'

Tori's brazen grin slowly turned into a grimace of concern. 'Oh … That's a bummer.'

 _Memory Lane_

The following few minutes were a haze of fleeting pictures. Even though Daphne knew she was descending into some unfamiliar labyrinth of catacombs holding Harry's hand, she couldn't for the life of her remember how she'd come to be there. She also vaguely recalled being very, very angry with her sister. She couldn't exactly say why, but she knew she had been furious for some reason. That would also explain why Harry was holding her hand, then; he knew she would calm down like that.

Daphne spent the walk down the narrow, eerie stone-steps wondering why Harry was holding her hand again, feeling like the answer was just out of reach. Strangely, she also kept wondering why she felt such irritation at the sight of her sister. She remembered drinking the potion, of course, but as to what came afterwards …

Hardly seconds after drinking the potion, they arrived in a vast underground grotto lit by torches. Daphne was simply enjoying standing there hand in hand with Harry. How they'd come to be there or where they were – she couldn't say.

The roughly circular cavern was at least twenty yards wide. Crooked, grey stalactites hung from the roof of the cave like drills stopped in motion. Crystals and sundry minerals, half-buried in the soil and rock, glistened in the gloam of the torches, lighting the vault like a thousand colourful stars gracing the earthly firmament. Every once in a while, a drop of water could be heard smattering onto the cold rock with an audible 'ping'. The air was humid and chilly. All was silent except for the sounds of the languorous slumber of mother Earth.

'Come,' said Arcturus, beckoning them towards the centre of the cavern where a big stalagmite had been artfully fashioned into a pedestal. The earth around it was cupreous. A simple piece of white cloth covered the stone, and on the cloth lay a single, wicked-looking knife with a serrated, black edge next to a selection of ordinary silver daggers.

'This chamber is where the Blacks first found a safe haven after crossing the sea, seeking a sanctum and retreat from their enemies. We keep its location hidden to preserve it, to help us remember those who came before us and to keep it alive. You might not know this because magical teachers rarely bother with physical intricacies that can easily be fixed by magic, but caves very much live. They grow, they age, they can get sick, and they die. This cave might well be the stony womb of my family, and we care for it.

'In contrast to what you might believe, this cavern is entirely natural – with the exception of the pedestal. But not only is it almost entirely natural, it's also religiously mundane. Even this,' he gave the table-substitute a loving pat, 'was fashioned from stone with sweat and ingenuity alone. The area around us is warded, naturally, but here, where we now stand and where so many before us stood, the air is as free of magic as anywhere. This is a place for man, not for the rather incomprehensible quasi-divine.

'As such, only a single magic is worthy of being performed here. Please gather around.'

Nervously, Daphne shuffled closer. Tori stood on Harry's other side, looking as queasy and anxious as Daphne hoped she didn't.

'This place, while beautiful,' he put forth his hands as if to embrace the starry roof of the cave, 'is physically no different from dozens of other flowstone caves in this country alone. But does that make it meaningless, mean, common, or even replaceable? Of course not.

'This place is sacred to us not because of what it is or was, the crystals hold no monetary value, the earth and stone no dark secret of magic. No, it's sacred because of what we made it, because of the meaning we instilled in it. Its _real_ meaning transcends its nature. And yet, if any other person, Muggle or magical, were to wander down those steps, would they see, would they comprehend any of its vast importance? Of course not. All they would see is a flowstone cave like a dozen others.'

'But what if it dies?' whispered Astoria nervously.

Arcturus smiled gently. 'How can we appreciate life without death? There was a time, more than a thousand years ago, that our ancestors settling the mainland didn't know of this cave. Maybe there will come a time when we don't have it anymore. It does not matter. The physical is transient – understanding, however, is everlasting.

'The reasoning behind me telling you all of this is twofold. Firstly, I wish to make it absolutely clear that I shall brook no falsehoods in this chamber. Here we stand, clad in modest robes, to remind us that being honest always begins with being honest with ourselves. Vows, pride, and honour are worthless when worn by false faces. When the time comes to make the final decision, I wish it to be understood that I don't expect you to go along with it, I expect you to follow your heart. Do you understand, Astoria? Daphne?'

Daphne glanced at Harry, who was looking pointedly straight ahead, refusing to catch her eye. She nodded. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw her sister do the same.

'Very well,' continued Arcturus. 'The second reason is a bit more metaphysical. It is difficult to explain, especially to those as young as you, but I shall try my best. Kindly imagine the colour green. What if I told you right now that green is – in reality – red. What if I told you that humanity is doomed to see red and think green. What if a million races on a million planets and a million scientific and magical procedures could, irrefutably, prove that what we perceive as green is actually red. Now imagine, following some freak accident of fate, you were the only person left on the whole world to ever acknowledge this fact, the only person biologically capable, chosen by destiny to comprehend that green is red. All the other races, the other planets, the scientific and magical methods ceased to work, are lost to time, vanish.

'It's only you. When you ask your friends about the colours of Slytherin and they say green and silver – are they wrong? Are they lying? No, the researcher or scientist might argue, your friends simply don't know of an additional fact. The linguist might agree insofar that language is, after all, convention, to begin with, indefinite and abstract by nature. A philosopher might be irresolute, musing if the question itself is senseless, pointing out that denotation and meaning are not the same.

'Another example: what if two brothers grew up together, fostered by the same mother, received the same love, shared the strongest bond of brotherhood imaginable and then – on her deathbed – the mother revealed that one of them was a foundling, refusing to name who. Is their brotherhood a lie? Even their parentage? Are both not really her sons anymore because they can't tell which one is the foundling? Is all that happened a lie? Is their connection fake? Is family only defined by the tiny little line on your family tree? Would it have made a difference if she hadn't said anything? But if the truth of their brotherhood couldn't withstand one additional fact of reality, was it truth in the first place?

'You might think back to the cave now. To others, it's an unremarkable piece of hollow rock. They're not wrong. To us, it's as important as a thousand golden mountains and all the knowledge of Alexandria. Are we in the wrong?

'Family is a bond of blood – that is the case for all the Blacks. All the branches of our family can trace their line, at some point, back to us. But our family goes beyond that. For us, relation is not the distance you can measure with a compass and straightedge on your family tree. For us, family is nothing you can count by listing those you are related to by a certain degree. We choose to elect, to believe who is family. And through our belief, family is eternal, a common destiny voluntarily shared. Is it wrong? Is it not real? Others might say it isn't. We say it is.

'We are a community of fate, more devoted than any other, transcending the elemental bonds of kinship and familiarity other mundane clans might share. We are an end in itself. Contrary to what you might have been given to understand by others, we commit ourselves to our family alone. Everything else is subordinated to this grand maxim.

'If I were to call you family, I would fight a thousand hopeless battles to save every last one of you from certain death, pay any amount of gold if I knew it brought you happiness, make any sacrifice – no matter how terrible – to ensure your future.

'And if you were to call us family, you would vow to bind your destiny and that of any and all of your chosen descendants to this, our name, forsaking any other designation and oath of allegiance as bare necessity, vow to keep this family safe by any means – just like we shall safeguard you from any harm and enemy in turn.

'You would be no servants, and we would be no masters. We are but arms, legs, wands, and heads of a single living purpose under a single name.'

Once more, he stared with those piercing grey eyes at each of them. Daphne's head was swimming, but the decision was made. She feared neither grizzly fate nor death – what she feared was being left by those she loved.

Lord Black was still gazing at them as Harry took a step forward and, with the utmost care, reverently took the black knife in his right hand, the backside of the blade resting against the back of his left hand. Daphne noticed that the lean woman in grey winced the moment Harry picked it up.

'It is customary,' Arcturus went on without looking at his grandson, 'for the pact to be made between both the supplicants and a member of the family – to symbolise our entwined destiny. I shall warn you one last time that the bond is entirely irrevocable by nature. It is a bond beyond life. If your conviction wavers during the pledge, your life _and_ that of the bonder may be forfeited.'

Daphne frowned, her gaze wandering from Arcturus, to the knife, to Harry. 'No … NO!'

'Yes, Daphne,' replied Harry calmly.

Lord Black looked at her, tilting his head. 'It was Harry who asked for this, Daphne. I doubt you will be able to change his mind. Ophala, I suggest you refrain from speaking any comment that includes the word adult or child. Harry made this decision knowing full well what it meant.'

Daphne's mother grimaced, silently closing her mouth.

'B– but what if something goes wrong?' asked Tori in a raspy voice.

Arcturus shook his head. 'This is no spell you cast with your wand, Astoria. It is something older, something different. It is fuelled by intent, by your emotions, by the ancient designs of magic itself.'

'What? How?!' asked Tori helplessly, pale as a ghost. 'I don't know anything about that! Do we have to sign with our blood or something?'

'No. I shall leave the rest of the explanation to your bonder. But keep my warnings in mind.'

Daphne gaped at both Arcturus and the entirely unmoved Harry, feeling tears and panic drawing near.

Arcturus turned around, looking at Harry with an unreadable expression. Then, to Daphne's surprise, he bowed deeply towards Harry, taking a place in the middle of both women in grey. Harry was left to stand elevated above and in front of them.

'I want you three to listen to me very carefully,' said Harry, his voice unwavering and smooth. 'The edge of this blade is draped in the most deadly of poisons. A single scratch is enough to kill the victim in the course of half an hour. If I were to stab someone, they would die in a minute at most. The poison was designed by one of our ancestors, and he never parted with the secret of its design, leaving only this perpetually coated knife behind. There exists no antidote, and we haven't been able to find a single spell to cure the poison either. It is, for all intents and purposes, almost assured death.

'You need not understand how it works but know this: any wound inflicted by this dagger is absolutely fatal and cannot be healed by anything but – presumably – the most powerful of magics, magic normally well beyond any of us here – not that casting such a spell would even be possible right now. I want to reiterate one last time that we did not cheat you – neither Grandfather nor I have our wands. As I said, even if such an incredible healing spell existed, there is no wand to cast it. Do you understand?'

Daphne, nervously chewing on her cheek, nodded.

'There is but one form of magic available here to overcome this toxin – Blood Magic.'

Daphne felt a shiver run down her spine, but she couldn't tear herself away from Harry's calmly presented words.

'Blood Magic works in wondrous ways. A bond of blood, blood willingly given, the desire to protect and restore, the overwhelming force we call love – these are all fundamentals of what constitutes these ancient rites. A single drop of blood willingly offered is worth a thousand reluctant sacrifices. Do you understand, Astoria?'

It was strange to hear Harry call Tori by her real name. Tori jumped a bit – as if her name had been a strike to emphasise the gravity of the situation. She nodded meekly.

'Ancient magic is different from lobbing spells with your wand. It is – for lack of a better word – alive. It feeds on the caster in every sense of the words. As such, the extent of your sacrifice and its intention governs the strength and purpose of any spell or ritual. If your intention is pure, so is the resulting spell. If you wish to harm, that will be what your spell does. No matter what you want, the spell shall always deliver what you _wish for_. This is why it is impossible to force someone to perform this magic. If your heart yearns for water, and your brain demands food, water is all you shall ever have. There is no trickery possible, and this is why we do what follows as a test of conviction and commitment. If any of you hold second thoughts, the outcome of the pact will be disastrous. If any of you actually wished me harm, my demise would be a certainty. If any of you are not committed at this point – step back right now!'

Daphne's heart threatened to jump from her throat, but she didn't move. Her mother, looking grim, grabbed one of the silver daggers with a frightening amount of intentness. She, apparently, had understood something Daphne hadn't. _What am I supposed to do?!_

'Pick a silver dagger, Daphne, and you, Astoria,' ordered Harry calmly. 'You need not worry; they carry no malicious enchantment.'

Nervously, Daphne held the little blade in her hand, perplexed what to do with it.

Harry, meanwhile, was drawing the cloth-belt even tighter around his waist, his arms slipping out of his robes, baring his lithe torso to the cold air of the cave. Daphne could see that he was taking long and unnaturally deep breaths, but she was far too scared to actually register that Harry stood more or less naked in front of her.

'I repeat: we have no potions here except those made to forget. We have no wands to heal a cut on any person. A single prick with this blade will lead to death within the hour. Do you all understand?'

Ophala nodded, gripping her dagger tightly. Astoria, too, seemed to finally comprehend something – but Daphne's thoughts were clouded by nothing but overwhelming fear. Harry looked first at Daphne's mother, then Tori, and finally Daphne, waiting long enough to receive a nod each time. His gaze lingered on her, and she got the feeling that he was trying to tell her something, but Daphne's mind was a complete blank. There was only fear. Something terrible was about to happen – about to happen to Harry!

'This kind of ritualistic magic is also different from wand magic because the … workload … can be shared between all participants of the ritual. There are three of you, so you might want to arrange whatever it is you think you need to do. Harmony will serve you well. But I shall make it even easier for you,' he said, taking a very conscious breath, sweat running down his chest as he closed his eyes. 'I will provide all that's necessary, but I will leave the most crucial part to you. It is you who must fuel it. I trust all three of you. I apologise for what you're about to see, but it's the best way …' To Daphne's horror, he brought the tip of the blade towards his left thumb. She could do nothing as he pricked his flesh just enough to draw blood. His expression didn't change a bit as he started to scribble a great many unfamiliar symbols on his chest with his own blood.

Daphne's eyes were riveted to Harry's bleeding thumb. Harry was about to die! Already she could see the flesh of his fingers beginning to look grey, veins standing out in purple and angry red against his fair skin.

Her mother and Astoria were looking with confusion from Harry to Arcturus, clearly unsure if their test had already begun.

But something much more pressing seemed to preoccupy the other three. The crooked, older woman that, until now, hadn't been bothered to do anything except bowing hissed all of a sudden, and Daphne could hear a sharp intake of breath from the lean woman on the other side of Arcturus.

The unhealthy, poisonous-looking veins had by now reached Harry's shoulder. His entire left hand looked grey and flaky. Daphne began to shake as cold shivers ran down her spine. There was this strange ringing in her ears, like the whistling of a teapot on the stove.

'Harry …?' said Arcturus, and Daphne wasn't at all relieved to hear more than just concern in his voice. 'Are you sure that is wi–'

But Harry had finished whatever runes he'd written around his heart and held up his dead-looking hand to silence his grandfather. He gripped the knife tightly and peacefully closed his eyes. For one blissful second, Daphne began to hope that her intuition had deceived her.

'We vow to be of one mind and one body for all times to come,' he muttered in a level voice. 'Offer yourself to us, to fulfil this pledge so that your lifeblood may be the living bond to bind us, join us. May your promise live on in our veins through me, and let this be my sacrifice lest we forget.'

It seemed as if the runes Harry had drawn were beginning to shimmer, but if this was actually true or a trick of the light, Daphne couldn't tell – before she could have a second look, a fast, jerky motion made her jump back.

Daphne stared at the hole in Harry's flesh, the knife plunged into his body, feeling her own heart grind to a standstill as a gush of Harry's blood sprinkled her robes. She heard the black knife hit the floor with a loud 'clang', but her eyes were glued to Harry, who was painfully collapsing to his knees, his breath rattling. His mouth moved, but there was no sound – only the erratic spasms of his muscles and the steadily growing pool of blood. The whistling in her ears was deafening.

She gave a blood-curdling scream, instinctively ramming the silver dagger with a sickening crunch through the bone of her hand, pulling the dagger with reckless abandon over her arm – until it all faded to black.

 _Memory Lane_

'I'll be right back! Don't worry, sweet pea!'

'I'm scared!' she cried, desperately clutching her mother's hem.

'Don't worry! Everything's going to be fine! Your father's here – and Harry! You'll be fine. Look after your sister!'

She gave Daphne a quick hug, nodding at her husband, before she rushed through the door, hands held up high. Behind Daphne, her sister was wailing, held by her father. As young as Daphne was, she still spotted the haunted look in her father's grey eyes. It frightened her that even someone like her father could be anxious. Harry, the strange boy who never warmed up except during his stupid thunderstorms, was staring with dull eyes at the floor in front of him, wobbling forwards and backwards as if the attack on their home was no concern of his.

His apathetic face angered Daphne, and she made to walk over to shake him out of it when her father caught her with one hand. 'No. Let him be.'

'But he's just sitting there!' shouted Daphne.

'He's sitting there because he _knows_ there's nothing he can do. He's gone through something like this once before … Leave him.'

Daphne scowled, shrugging off her father's hand, peeking out through the gap between the curtain and the window. Her mother was steadily approaching the edge of the clearing from where the attack had begun, hands still very visible in an obvious gesture of surrender.

It was starting to get hot. The north wing of the house, a towering, spitting spire of flames, groaned under the weakening support of the beams. The air was full of smoke, ember, ash, and fear.

There was light at the edge of the wood, revealing a few tall figures in robes. Her mother was shouting something, sinking on her knees, begging – until a fierce orange light caught her right on the cheek, slamming her with a thud onto the ground, blood spraying through the air.

'NOOO!' screamed Daphne. 'We've got to help her! Mummy's hurt!'

Her father was standing next to her, Astoria in his arms with her face resting against his neck. He put one hand on Daphne's shoulder. His hand was twitching, but he wouldn't let go. 'No.'

'But she's hurt!'

'No, we've got to stay inside …'

Two of the figures detached themselves from the group, approaching her mother, who still seemed to be pleading.

A soft rustling of clothes was all the warning she got before she noticed that the boy, Harry, had stood up next to her. Daphne was taken aback. Instead of the fleeting, rare moments of joy that sometimes shone through the dull facade of his face, instead of the dejected, shy shell that bored her, there was now something she'd never seen before – pure, utter hatred.

'I know him,' he said, pointing into the dark at the two approaching figures.

'Prewett,' cursed her father. 'Should've known. Damn the man!'

Daphne looked up in time to see another man, a raw-boned, cruel-looking Auror, viciously backhand her mother, who screamed with agony, audible even over the cracking of burning beams.

'NOOO! Mummy! No! NO! Let her be!' she screamed, trying to free herself and run towards the door, but her father's hand, shaking more than ever, just wouldn't let go of her.

Her little sister was screaming, too, not that she could see anything. When the cruel man raised his wand, Daphne's father suddenly jerked her around so she couldn't look.

But her mother's scream tore through the night.

'Make them stop! Make them stop hurting Mum!' she whimpered, crying into the robes of her father.

'Daphne,' said Regulus Black, his voice imperious and calm. 'Take your sister and calmly walk towards the stables.'

'I don't want to leave! I'm scared!'

Her father looked down at her, smiling sadly. 'This is no time to be afraid. You need to be strong to protect your sister.'

Right on cue, another volley of spells hit the wards of the mansion, gripping the stone and wood with terrible force.

'Listen, take your sister and walk towards the stables. Wait for me there! I'll be right along, don't worry!'

'Mummy said that, too!'

Her father's face twitched, but his stern gaze prevailed. 'Now is not the time to argue, Daphne. Do as I say!'

Daphne sniffed, nodding. 'And him?!' she asked, eyes darting towards the boy.

'I need to have a quick word with him. Harry will be with you in a second. It'll be fine! Your mother and I will be with you shortly.'

'She's not badly hurt?'

'Of course not,' he said smoothly. 'Don't worry. Take your sister – now! Go!'

Daphne took her confused sister's hand, ambling towards the southern side of the mansion. Casting one last look over her shoulder, she could see her father talking fast to Harry, who looked first determined and then shocked. He could see him arguing, actually arguing with an adult, when they made it through the door.

But she'd promised to protect her sister, so she didn't linger.

'I don't want to!' cried Astoria. 'I want Mummy. I want to go home!'

 _But this_ is _home_ , thought Daphne with terror-induced clarity. _Or was._ She gripped the hand of the little girl even tighter, rushing through the darkness of the gathering smoke. Daphne knew every last corner of their home by heart, but as she navigated the biting haze, trembling whenever some spell hit their crumbling sanctuary, she felt like a visitor. The living room, almost torn in half, one part of the back wall blasted away, soot and ash covering their cosy furniture, didn't look at all like the place where her father would read her old stories every other night.

She felt like a dreamer shambling through the ruins of her past.

When they finally reached the remains of the stables, she hid with her sister behind a few large barrels, sneaking anxious looks around the wood every once in a while to see if her father or at least Harry was coming.

But for several minutes, there was nothing but acrid smoke, faint shouting, and the trembling of the ruins as spell after spell bombarded their home. She whimpered with every curse that destroyed her childhood, but she didn't cry. Instead, she gently rocked her sister, muttering calmingly that Father and Mother both had promised to be along.

A voice, clear and cheerful, startled her. 'Daphne? Astoria? Where are you my dears?'

Confused, Daphne looked around the barrels. Near the line of rune stones, a figure wearing simple robes was walking up and down, calling. A very familiar figure. Her mother! 'Daphne! Come out, please. Daphne?! Where are you? Everything's okay now! You can come out!'

She was about to duck out of cover when a small hand forced her down again. Bewildered, she turned to stare at Harry, who crouched down next to her. 'No, look,' he whispered. 'Your mother was wearing a dress. That person isn't. And why isn't she coming inside?'

Daphne frowned, looking at 'Mother' again.

'Daphne, sweetheart, please come out!'

For a second, she wanted to go regardless, but when the moment passed, she saw an unfamiliar scowl pass over her mother's features as the person stamped the ground in frustration. 'Told you it wouldn't work.'

'Bugger that,' called another, bodiless voice. 'Keep trying. They're just brats! The wards won't be holding much longer anyway. I'll be over that way.'

They waited for a few more minutes, hidden behind the barrels, ignoring the calls and sounds of fighting from the other side of the mansion. At some point in time, she felt some indescribable change in the air around them, but nothing else seemed to be happening. The boy, Harry, looked worried.

The imposter cautiously put one toe over the line of rune stones. Nothing happened.

With a cry of triumph, the figure jumped over the threshold, rushing towards the stables. 'Daphne, sweetheart,' the imposter called with a sickeningly sweet voice that didn't sound like her mother's at all. 'Ready or not – here I come!'

Right at that moment, the small bundle in Daphne's arm stirred. Astoria's head turned. Seeing the familiar figure, she shouted, 'Mummy!'

The world stood still as the imposter turned his head, a gleeful grin disfiguring Daphne's mother's stolen face. 'There you are, my darlings! Come to Mummy!'

Astoria squirmed and turned in Daphne's grip, scratching and yelling for her sister to let go. Daphne didn't, but that didn't really matter. With a few long strides, the fake was there, reaching over the barrels, lifting them both by the scruff of their necks.

'Ow!' yelled Astoria. 'Let go! You're hurting me, Mummy!''

'I'm so sorry, _dear_ ,' hissed the fake. It stank of sweat. 'But your father's been very naughty, and I need you both to punish him. Now, where is the boy?!'

'Let go!' shouted Daphne, wiggling and trying to get free. The grip tightened, and she cried out.

'No, no! We'll have none of that. Be good little girls and let me do my job. You needn't be afraid; we're the good guys!'

From out of nowhere, a small figure with wild black hair leapt at the fake, clawing, biting, scratching. The imposter looked more surprised than anything until Harry clawed mercilessly at their eyes.

'Bloody hell!' screamed the fake, letting go of Daphne and ripping Harry from their shoulder, tossing him onto the ground. With a painful groan, the small boy smashed into a few molehills and didn't try to get up again.

Daphne, finally coming to her senses thanks to the screams of her little sister, bit the hand of the fake as hard as she could. The imposter screamed with rage and pain, pushing Daphne bodily to the ground before he slapped her twice in the face. She was yanked up at her tuft, seeing some red spell strike her sister, who immediately slumped down.

'You're a vicious lot. No wonder, considering your family, Miss Black, but I would have expected better from a Potter,' sneered the figure, shaking Daphne, who screamed in agony.

'Let her go!' Harry was struggling to get to his feet again, his left eye already swelling up.

The person holding Daphne didn't though. She was being cruelly yanked back and forth as if she were merely a point in an argument. 'No, Mr Potter. You shall come with us. Let's get this over with without any unpleasantness, right?'

'Leave her alone!'

'I'll do no such thing. You will–'

'LEAVE HER ALONE!'

'Mr Potter, I can see you're understandably upset but–'

There was a loud crack, an ear-splitting scream, and Daphne fell in the mud, dimly aware of a dull thud behind her. Something hot was trickling down the back of her head. Nauseated, she touched her hair. It came away sticky and wet – and yet she didn't feel dizzy. Her head hurt a bit from where the man had grabbed her by the hair but …

Confused, she looked up.

Harry was standing a few feet in front of her, shaking from head to toe, looking at something behind Daphne with a mix of vague fascination and horror. Seeing her get up, he jumped forward, taking her hand. 'Come on, we need to leave.'

'Did you hurt him?' Daphne heard herself ask, not daring to turn around.

'I … I don't know. I think so. Get your sister!'

'But … Father – he's still …'

There was a crash from somewhere deeper within the house.

'No,' insisted Harry, dragging her towards her younger sister. 'Regulus gave me something to escape with you should the air flicker and die.'

'The air?' asked Daphne, failing to understand.

'I don't know,' said Harry, casting anxious glances over his shoulder. 'I've seen it happen before. The air flickers and others can get inside. Come on – we leave now!'

They were about to pick up the unconscious Astoria when the mansion gave the biggest shake ever. The entire north wing, which happened to include Daphne's bedroom and the nursery, came tumbling down, beams, glass, dust, and dirt whirling through the air in a cloud of debris. For a few seconds, they both gaped. They could see a few flickering tongues of flame shine through the biting haze – already the fire had spread to most of the main wing.

'Let's go!' shouted Harry again, more urgently.

Rummaging in his pockets, he produced a little silver lighter Daphne immediately recognised as her father's.

'Ready?' he asked.

'For what?!'

He fumbled with the little gadget until it suddenly started glowing in a faint cyan light. A second crash from within the house – much closer this time – caused them both to turn their heads.

It was Daphne's father. He was dragging one foot, holding his ribs and wincing painfully.

'Leave!' he shouted. 'I'll follow. LEAVE! You promised, Harry. You promised!'

Daphne felt the boy next to her tense up. The next moment, the world began to spin. But as the world around them turned, they saw a bunch of people appearing from within the smoke or simply coming into being from thin air. A few of them cussed and trained their wands at them, but two people in robes aimed at Daphne's father.

One last glance, one very last look at the relieved smile of her father – and then his body shook, his eyes widened … and they were gone.

'WHY DID WE LEAVE HIM THERE?!' screamed Daphne, shaking the boy even as she heard hastened footsteps from somewhere within the house they'd arrived in. 'WE COULD HAVE TAKEN HIM! THEY HURT HIM!'

Mad with terror and grief, she hit Harry even as tears streaked down her face. 'WE COULD HAVE TAKEN HIM WITH US!'

Harry didn't fight back. He simply averted his head. 'He made me promise.'

'Promise what?! To leave him behind? Don't be stupid! Why did you help me at all if you're so happy to leave the rest of my family behind! I hate you! Why?! WHY?!'

She shook him, daring him to fight back, letting the rage and despair all out.

'Because I don't,' he said under his breath, still not looking into her eyes.

'Don't what?!' she demanded, jerking the scrawny boy this way and that way.

'I don't … hate you. Sirius, Regulus, Ophala, you – you all are about the first family I've ever had that's not gone, that's more than some picture on a wall. I … I don't want to be alone again.'

 _Memory Lane_

To her own surprise, Daphne was still alive when she came to. She instantly knew she was alive because of the burning, all-consuming torment that was her left arm. Death shouldn't hurt like that.

Her limbs felt heavy and feeble – her mind floating, feverish. She forced herself to blink through crusty eyes.

Numbly, the world settled into focus, and she found herself gazing at a ceiling she didn't recognise. A small figure with messy black hair clad in dark linen was resting its head on her stomach. Daphne felt her throat go dry. _Harry? But how …?!_

Confused, she glanced down her left arm. Her white robes, unremarkable and innocent with no trace of blood, were the same as ever – except for the left sleeve, which had been cut off entirely. In its place, her arm was now wrapped in thick bandages. She didn't want to disturb Harry's sleep and made to move her left arm to run her hand through his hair, to feel if he was real, but a sharp, searing pain forced her to relent with a cry of pain.

The sound caused Harry to stir, and he lifted his head, staring at her through watery red eyes. Her breath caught. Had Harry been crying?

For an eternity or two, they just locked eyes.

'Harry, I–'

'You BLOODY FOOL!' yelled Harry suddenly, making her shrink back from the force of his voice. 'Didn't you remember?! Didn't you remember what I told you only yesterday?! You nearly died!'

Despite his blustering tone, he carefully scooped her up from her bed, pulling her into a gentle embrace. The inside of Daphne's arm felt like molten lava, but she didn't even flinch as she hugged him back.

'You stupid girl … Why didn't you just do as I told you?'

When Harry eventually broke their embrace, he gently pushed her shoulder down. 'How do you feel?' he asked, his voice husky, with a nod at the bandages.

'My arm feels like it's about to fall off.' She stared for a second at the hole in Harry's robes. She could see his skin underneath. It looked completely normal and healthy. 'Harry, what happened?!'

He sighed, leaning back and ruffling his hair. 'Maybe this is my fault … You would've died if the daggers hadn't been enchanted, Daphne. You sliced your entire arm open, cutting through muscle, bone, marrow, and all!'

'I thought the daggers hadn't been …'

Harry flicked his tongue. 'No, I said there was no malicious magic on the daggers.' He sighed, running his hands over his face, hiding his eyes. 'You scared the living daylights out of me.'

'I? I scared you?!' she repeated, hysterical. 'Harry you stabbed yourself right in front of me!'

'I did it to make it easier for you!' he shot back instantly. 'Blood magic will only ever work if you mean it with every fibre of your being, I told you, remember?! Who do you think you could save more easily? Me, seriously injured – or a veiled stranger you had no attachment to?!'

Daphne's brow wrinkled. 'But even if–'

Harry interrupted her once again. 'You would have died, Daphne. Don't you understand? If anyone of you – you, Tori, or Ophala – had shown anything less than the purest wish to help me, to heal, if there had even been a hint of disharmony, it would all have been for nothing. That's the way it is with old magic.

'I went out of my way to make you listen, and I even made you give me that promise because I had a feeling something like this might happen! I wasn't even supposed to tell you that much! Daphne, I told you the sacrifice needs to be proportional to your wish. Three lives don't pay for one! You never had to go so far!'

'I … I just saw you lying there, writhing in your own blood. I … sort of blanked out. I just didn't want you to die – is that so hard to understand?!'

Harry was about to shout something, but he bit his tongue, forcibly calming down. 'You were lucky,' he repeated again. 'We did our best once we rushed back up here, but it was a very close thing.'

Daphne stared through the haze of her exertion at the bandages, but she still couldn't bring herself to feel that she'd done anything wrong. 'How are you?' she asked, her eyes drawn once more to the skin above Harry's heart.

Harry clicked his tongue. 'I'm fine – more than fine. My wound closed in about a second because you came so damn close to killing yourself for me.'

Daphne sagged with relief. Talking was tiring. And wasn't it all okay if Harry was fine? 'Tori … Mum?'

'They're both fine as well. Both of them _understood_ , too, I might add – even Tori! You attempting to chop your own arm off shocked them more than anything. They're both asleep upstairs. Magic like this is taxing.'

'You don't look … tired,' mumbled Daphne, fighting for her vision to stay focused. 'And wasn't it your spell …?'

'Yes, but – in contrast to any of you – I'm … used to it.'

Once more, they gazed at one another. Daphne shivered a bit as she weakly raised her right hand, running it over the hole in Harry's robes. 'Don't do something so ruddy scary ever again!'

Harry actually snorted, poking her shoulder. 'Look who's talking.'

Despite herself, she smiled a bit. 'So it's done?'

'It's done.'

'A– and now?' she asked, yawning.

'Nothing now. I told you nothing's going to change. You need to get some rest, and then we'll s–'

Harry was interrupted by a giant crash coming from the floor above. It sounded as if half the library was tumbling down, and the entire mansion shook.

Daphne was about to get up when Harry gently pushed her down again. 'No. You need rest. I'll check it out and be right back; you'll be perfectly safe.'

Daphne's right hand shot forth and clutched his robes.

Through heavy eyes, she saw Harry sigh wearily. 'If you don't want to rest here, how about we go up and you sleep in my room? I promise I'll be back soon!'

 _Sleeping in Harry's bed …?_ Half a second after fully comprehending his words, Daphne was already shakily getting to her feet. Harry slung one arm around her to help her along, shooting some strange charm at her that made her feel warm and fuzzy.

'Come on – slowly.'

The enticement of Harry's bed was the only thing that helped her overcome the endless, painful climbing of the stairs to the third floor. When they finally arrived, she just stood there, wobbling, drinking in the air and odour as if it were water before she simply collapsed on his bed. If Harry hadn't caught her, she would have fallen on her left arm, too.

'Sandals!' she mumbled, her voice stifled because she couldn't be bothered to raise her head from the pillow.

She felt Harry undo the straps, pushing her legs underneath the blanket. 'Come on,' he said, 'you should try lying on your back for now. It'll hurt worse than ever when you wake if you sleep on your left just because I numbed the pain.'

With a groan, Daphne rolled over, and Harry seized the moment to pull the duvet up high. 'I'll be right back.'

'Good night … kiss …?' muttered Daphne sleepily, her eyes already half-closed.

'You really are a handful … Get some sleep,' said Harry with a chuckle. 'Don't force yourself for something so silly.'

''s not … silly …' mumbled Daphne petulantly, drawing the blanket close, forcing one burning eye open. 'Don't … sleep like … this!'

Harry bent over her, and she could see the exasperated smile he so often wore around her. Softly, he kissed her on the brow. 'Sleep now.'

'That's … not–'

But the world simply seemed to dissolve in feathers and light, leaving her behind.

 _Memory Lane_

Harry made sure Daphne really was asleep and wouldn't further hurt her arm before he hurriedly got dressed in decent clothes and gingerly closed the door behind him, tapping it with his wand to seal it off. Cranky should know to keep others from leaving the first floor so long as not all of the traces of the ritual had been dealt with, but there was no benefit in taking chances.

The voices came from his grandfather's study, and – strangely – Harry didn't recognise all of them. Even stranger still, a queer pong he associated with the sea made him wrinkle his nose. He was about to knock politely on the heavy wood when Arcturus' voice rose over the ruckus within, 'Enter, Harry!'

Following those words, he heard the door unlock. It seemed that his grandfather wasn't in the business of taking chances as well.

Curious, he did as he was told, and the first thought he had as he took a step inside was ' _what a mess!_ '

Seaweed, algae, driftwood, and little pools of what looked (and certainly smelled) like brackish water had ruined the precious, antique Persian carpet he loved; the walls looked as if a sea monster had fumbled around blindly, ripping off tapestries, bookshelves, and pictures; a sickeningly sweet, biting smell of biological waste, tar, and sulphur hung heavyly in the air; and in the middle of it all, a small mound of mouldy black rags – a moving mound, to be precise. Its movement, however, seemed mostly restricted to tongue and mouth; Harry couldn't understand the hissed stream of cursing and gibberish that was interrupted by unhealthy sounding fits of coughing and wheezing but he got the gist of it. Someone was angry.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus were offering what looked like lukewarm soup and water to the pile of tatters, speaking animatedly under their breath.

'The door, Harry,' said Arcturus with almost perfidious serenity, watching the whole spectacle from behind his desk.

Harry nodded, mumbling a charm to seal the door behind him as well.

The incantation seemed to rouse the rag-clad sea monster, and it spun around. Eyes shone from behind a curtain of seagrass-like hair like lights at the end of a very, very far tunnel.

''o's'at?' it cawed with a voice like sandpaper.

'That is Harry, my heir,' said Arcturus with a hint of sharpness in his voice. 'I expect you to favour him with the same courtesy you show me.'

The figure on the floor lifted its skeletal head. The face was so haggard that the eyes looked to be in danger of falling out of their sockets. It was a wonder, Harry mused, that he – or she – could move at all.

For a second, a glimmer of understanding – but then it was gone, and the figure crouched down again, coughing wildly. The wheezing sounded hollow and painful.

Harry stared coolly at the winding wreck of a person. 'Could be pneumonia. It may well be fatal given the bad physical state our guest is in,' he commented, aloof.

'Won't die!' The figure gave another dry, winding cough that would make most people cringe. 'Not f–from this!'

'We'll take care of you immediately, Rabastan,' said Arcturus with a nod in Harry's direction. 'You needn't worry about your well-being or safety.'

 _Rabastan Lestrange_ , thought Harry, eyes widening. He didn't know much about the man, but Harry had to admit not everyone would have been able to make whatever torturous journey he had behind him. His claws – hands – were bloody and raw, and it looked as if he'd dragged his maltreated body forward inch by inch at some point. Harry knew the man hadn't been in prison for nothing, but he had to give him credit for sheer tenacity.

'But first, I need you to think over what you just said – and very carefully. Are you absolutely sure?'

With Bellatrix's help, Rabastan sat up, holding his left side. ''s I said – just as I said. Looked everywhere. Every cranny, every nook. Wasn't there. Maybe they took him. They take people, they do,' he repeated feverishly, 'and never bring'em back.'

'Who?' asked Harry despite himself.

'… The men – with the black robes. They took'em, and they never give back.'

'No, I meant whom were you unable to locate?'

'Him. Sirius.'

It took a few moments for these words to fight through the disbelief and incredulity they elicited. But then they came crashing down on Harry's mind like a rain of hammers.

'What?!'


	50. ML: Summer's end

**Summer's end**

* * *

Harry had been in a constant state of inattention ever since the news about Sirius, unwilling to admit that nothing could be done while Uncle Arcturus was gathering more information. Daphne, who didn't enjoy this tense, brooding version of him, had therefore decided to try her best at keeping him company and off balance which, naturally, had nothing at all to do with sleeping in Harry's room and spending days and days being waited on hand and foot like a princess.

'We've got approximately two dozen guest rooms last I counted, Daphne. You can pick any single one of them and keep it for however long you want. It'll be yours only! You're even free to redecorate. I just don't see any reason why you should stay in _my_ room!'

Daphne didn't answer, choosing instead to channel all of her strength into latching onto the blanket. Her arm stung painfully, but she wouldn't desist no matter what. Harry, spotting her pained grimace, let go, admitting defeat for this round of tug-of-war.

 _Daphne: 1 – Chivalry: 0!_

Daphne immediately spread out the blanket, vanishing underneath with a happy little purr. While she loved lounging around wearing nothing but a shirt of Harry's and some baggy shorts, it could get a bit chilly if you actually had to leave bed.

But her formidable opponent, far from retreating, immediately attacked from another angle. 'What about Tori and your mother?' he asked with what she could tell was his 'Look, I'm trying to be reasonable here'-voice. 'They already left yesterday.'

'You said nothing would change between us! I used to stay over all the time a few years back. I'm choosing to resurrect that tradition!'

'Yes, I know I said that but–'

'And there you have it!' said Daphne like someone revealing the ultimate argument. As if the matter had been settled, she proceeded to serenely pat the pillow, making herself comfortable in Harry's bed. 'Just pipe down and get the light. My arm hurts again from your attempted blanket theft.'

'Daphne, I won't be able to get a wink of sleep like this. I know you're still exhausted, but you've been lolling about in my bed for the last couple days non-stop!'

'And I can't sleep alone in some other room because as soon as I close my eyes, I see a certain someone about to eviscerate himself with a knife!' she shot back, going strong and aiming for an early knockout punch. 'How about you show that you actually care?!'

Harry groaned. 'How can one person be so obstinate?!'

She could hear him stomping angrily on the ground, but still she refused to turn around, grinning into the pillow.

'Fine. Three days. Three more days but then I'm kicking you out – no matter what!'

'Okay,' she agreed happily. She wasn't worried. This was, after all, already the first day after Harry's _initial_ super serious ultimatum.

'But what about your birthday, Daphne? I thought you wanted to celebrate with Tracey, and Hermione, and all the rest.'

Daphne yawned pointedly. 'Don't want to … hassle … rather catch some more sleep. See them in a few weeks anyway,' she mumbled.

'Well, it's your birthday. But I'm straight-up refusing to sleep on the couch any longer!'

Daphne turned around at the speed of light. Was that supposed to be a threat or temptation? Daphne had been far from ever suggesting such a thing, but Harry had insisted in that stubborn way of his.

'Alright!' she returned immediately, lifting the duvet for him to crawl underneath.

But, to her surprise, Harry chuckled, wagging his head. 'Oh, no. If you want to play that game again, I'll have to tweak the rules a bit. Cranky!'

The elf apparated into the middle of the room, bowing low first to Harry and then to Daphne. She had to admit she was still having issues getting used to it. Minnie wasn't a problem at all; she was so adorably happy caring for her family that Daphne often commanded her to appear for ludicrously trivial tasks only to shower her with praise. But Kreacher was creepy! And Cranky was … strange – no matter how helpful he could be (for example delivering breakfast to bed every day). It was such a shame that she wouldn't be allowed to call them in London or Hogwarts.

'Master Harry called?' asked Cranky, looking up.

'The … _item_ ,' said Harry in a conspiratorial hush, 'has it arrived yet?'

The elf bowed again, cackling madly. 'It has indeed, Master.'

Daphne frowned. Why did even the elf sound so sinister all of a sudden?

'I believe Daphne would very much like to see it now.'

'As you wish, Master.' With a snap of his fingers, a colourful and elegantly wrapped box about the size of a trunk appeared directly next to Daphne.

Confused, she stared first at the box and then at Harry.

'Thank you, Cranky. An early present for your birthday, Daphne,' he said with a suspiciously exuberant smile. 'I hope you'll enjoy it. I know I will.'

His grin was worrying, but presents were presents! She gave it a small shake and was surprised to realise that the entire thing didn't seem to weigh more than a few pounds. Excited, she ripped at the wrapping, paper flying everywhere. Inside the first, colourful box was another box wrapped in red ribbons. That box, too, contained an even smaller, very discreet black case. It looked sort of like the boxing in which her negligée had been packed but … no … The idea was kind of exciting, but Harry would never … would he?

Her head filled with fantastical expectations, she lifted the lid. For a few seconds, she stared expressionlessly at what lurked within.

'If I may be permitted?' asked Harry with another smile, carefully picking up _the item_.

It was a negligée … of sorts.

'Allow me to explain,' he went on enthusiastically, holding it up as if it were a treasure beyond price. 'This, my dear Daphne, is finest hand-spun wool of happy merino sheep – thick, strong, durable, and breathable. This particular gown was spun using wool from the shoulders only. It's very resilient and dense.'

He held it up for the last rays of sunshine to fall on it. 'See? It's practically opaque. It's not often you see craftsmanship this fine.'

'Very nice, Master,' complimented Cranky loyally.

Daphne felt her jaw drop.

'In addition to that,' he continued, giving _the item_ a fancy twirl, 'I had it specifically made to allow maximum comfort. Even better, it's charmed to never slip even the _slightest_ – guaranteed. It'll cover your legs, and arms, and everything in between perfectly at all times.'

'Very impressive, indeed, Master.'

'It may be a _touch_ old-fashioned,' he admitted with what was likely to be the understatement of the century, 'but it's made to resemble authentic Victorian styles. The very helpful shop assistant privately confessed that her grandmother swore by it.'

Daphne felt like throwing up inside her mouth, but Harry still hadn't finished, lifting the pyjamas above his head as if they were the Holy Grail.

'It's also charmed to be a perfect fit even should your measurements change. Isn't that fantastic? And – last but certainly not least – a very convenient array of spells has been woven into the fibre to allow for perfectly controlled temperature regulation. Why, I'm told you could sleep in the heat of the Sahara wearing this marvellous nightgown and not feel even the slightest touch of discomfort. The height of a British summer? No problem at all! But what about winter, you ask? No need whatsoever for hot-water bottles or additional charm work. The kind lady told me they're the perfect pyjamas for the self-confident spinster – absolutely no snuggling required ever!'

With an extravagant bow that included many a twirl of his hands, he presented her the lumpy, mouse-grey gown. Daphne's hands numbly accepted it, reluctantly admitting that chivalry had scored a late but stunning comeback.

'I hope it gives you many nights of comfortable, reposeful sleep,' finished Harry with a roguish grin. 'I'm certain it will for me.'

 _Memory Lane_

'Hermione, there's some post for you!' called Hermione's mother from downstairs.

Slytherin's only current Muggle-born got up from her desk with curiosity, wondering if this – finally – was the reply from the teacher Draco had contracted.

Her parents were sitting in the kitchen, enjoying some late Sunday afternoon tea. The scene of tranquil philistinism was slightly distorted by the two owls circling above her grumbling father. He'd never got entirely comfortable with the notion of avian mail delivery.

'Can't you receive your post outside, Hermione?' he asked with forced calmn. 'We could put a bird house in the garden, for instance. Wouldn't that be nice?'

One of the owls landed on his knee, pecking at his cookies and drenching its beak in his cup. Hermione had to suppress a laugh, but she could see her father's temple twitch dangerously.

'You need to relax, my dear,' suggested her mother. 'They seem to notice if you try to ignore them. Some of them are bit showy. They want to be praised!'

Her father harrumphed, noticeably writing 'bird house' in very large letters under 'milk' on a small bit of paper.

With a smile, Hermione accepted the first letter from the bigger owl that seemed vaguely familiar. There wasn't a lot of writing in it.

 _'Hey there, Granger!_

 _Harry insisted that I absolutely had to cancel my invitations by mail. So here it is: Birthday cancelled._

 _See you at Hogwarts,  
Daphne'_

She had another look into the envelope but that, apparently, really was it. So much for the present she'd already bought. She would have to look into getting it there by Muggle mail, seeing as the owl was already a shrinking spot on the horizon. The second envelope was a great deal heavier, revealing an impressive coat of arms of some bird of prey in mid-flight. When she opened it, however, she realised that the thickness of the envelope was due more to a stack of forms than the actual letter. She decided to read the letter first.

 _'Dear Miss Granger,_

 _I am very pleased to accept the arrangement brokered on behalf of Mr Draco Malfoy to offer lessons about etiquette, customs, Wizarding history, fashion, Ministry organisation, politics, career advice, and courtship._

 _Seeing as you're still underage and living with your parents, I would very much like to introduce myself and a colleague of mine to you and your guardians as soon as possible to begin our course during your summer holidays. Should you judge this arrangement to be fruitless, the entire sum paid will be refunded if you terminate the agreement per owl within two weeks following you opening the envelope._

 _Please consider having your parents fill out enclosed Ministry-sanctioned registration forms A32 through A48c to temporarily connect the place of your residence to the Floo Network._

 _All dues have been paid in full one year in advance, courtesy of the aforementioned Mr Malfoy._

 _Hoping you are well,  
Audrea Monboglott'_

Well, that explained the sizeable stack of yellow parchment attached to the cover letter.

'It's from the teacher, Mum!' said Hermione happily. 'She writes that she wants to introduce herself to you as soon as possible!'

'Well, that does sound like the respectable thing to do. The owl seems to be waiting, so why don't you write back right away? Any weekend should be fine.'

Hermione nodded, immediately scribbling a short reply and handing it to the owl.

Her father harrumphed once more. 'Odd name though, isn't it? Mind you, Draco Malfoy isn't any better,' he said, sifting through Ministry forms. With a sigh, he added, 'But it's a relief that even the magical world has to suffer paperwork.'

'Don't judge people on their names, Dad. Though I admit some are a bit … special. I mean there's Lestrange or even Lovegood! Not to mention Professor Dumbledore!'

'Lovegood,' repeated her father weakly.

'It takes all sorts, dear,' said her mother smoothly.

'I suppose you're right. But,' he had another look at Hermione's letter, 'courtship?! I don't remember you mentioning _that_!'

Hermione felt herself blush. 'That's because I didn't know! Draco organised it all.'

'Are you close to that … Draco boy?' her father asked, eyeing Hermione suspiciously.

Hermione felt rather conflicted about the answer to that question. 'He's a good friend of Harry's.'

Harry's name elicited two very different responses: her mother's expression lit up whereas her father's frown only deepened.

Thankfully, Hermione was rescued from standing trial by a polite knock on the door. All three Grangers synchronously glanced first at Hermione's letter and then in the direction of the hallway.

'What exactly did you reply with, dear?' asked her mother with a chuckle.

'I wrote "any weekend will do".'

'Well, you'd better get the door then because, unless I'm very much mistaken, it seems _this_ weekend was chosen.'

Hermione grinned guiltily, hurrying towards the door. 'Dad? Please be nice!' she called over her shoulder.

Even in the hallway, she could hear the faint groaning. 'Not again …' before her mother shushed her husband.

Curious, Hermione opened the door.

Two people stood in front of their home – a woman and a man. The woman, Audrea Monboglott she assumed, was about her parents' age, round-faced, and had short, coarse hair. She wore a perfectly ordinary black suit. Despite her severe appearance, a few subtle lines around her eyes and mouth hinted at a sunny disposition.

She held out her hand for Hermione to take, but Hermione – thanks in no small part to Draco's constant leering comments – hesitated for just a moment, which seemed to amuse her guest.

'We're in public, dear. It's perfectly alright to shake hands given our surroundings.'

Sheepishly, Hermione shook hands.

'I'm Audrea Monboglott. I assume you're Miss Granger?'

Hermione nodded, opening the door a bit further. 'Yes, thank you for coming by, Ms Monboglott.'

'No need to be so stiff, Hermione. May I call you Hermione? While I intend to teach etiquette, I see no reason for us to bore ourselves with platitudes and empty gestures. Is that alright with you?'

Hermione gave a little smile of her own. 'Perfectly okay.'

'Capital!' She stood aside to fully reveal the man slightly behind her. In contrast to Audrea Monboglott, the man wore unassuming robes that could – with a bit of luck – pass off as a judge's gown. He appeared to be slightly younger than his companion. And while his pose and bearing gave off the telling casual elegance Hermione had come to associate with pure-blood elites, a lazy grin played about his lips. He had lustrous black hair that fell to his shoulders, and even with the baggy robes, Hermione could tell that he was well-built.

'This ungrateful hunk is Mr Lazarus. He's an Auror.'

'All right, Hermione?' he called with a half-hearted wave as he inspected the doorbell.

'And while his manners leave much to be desired,' continued Ms Monboglott smoothly but with a hint of exasperation, 'he will be able to teach some material I'm not too familiar with. I assure you, he's quite harmless – unless you're out for a drink, of age, and biologically female. We'll ditch him in time, don't worry.'

Hermione gave a nervous chuckle. 'Would you like to come in? My parents are in the kitchen.'

'Splendid! Please lead the way.'

Hermione led her guests towards the kitchen, praying for the best. Her father could be a bit troublesome. It was his nature to ceaselessly worry, and Hermione leaving home for months at a time hadn't improved that particular trait.

But to her utmost amazement, her father got along splendidly with Mr Lazarus. While her mother was asking serious questions about the curriculum and Magical Britain, in general, her dad was busy discussing yesterday's football matches with the enthusiastic Auror, opening a second beer for the both of them within the first ten minutes. She distinctly saw her mother sigh at the men, but both women chose not to interfere – presumably to get the most important things sorted out while their baggage was otherwise preoccupied.

'Would you mind me asking about your qualifications, Ms Monboglott?' asked Hermione's mother, offering their guest a bit more tea.

'No, no – of course not. Well, just like the loafer I'm legally required to call colleague right now, I've been living in Britain's magical community all my life. I attended Hogwarts myself, of course, so I'll be able to help your daughter not only from a professional but also from a personal perspective. I have a lot of friends who stumbled into the magical world, so I'm all too familiar with the difficulties these rapid changes may entail.'

Ms Monboglott carefully stirred her tea before taking an elegant little sip.

'On a more personal note, I'm also married to what you might consider a descendant of one of Britain's more conservative families.'

'And what is it you do when you're not teaching other, what was the term, Muggle-borns? Our daughter told us these kinds of courses aren't exactly wide-spread.'

'Oh, I work for the Ministry.' She rummaged in her tasteful blue clutch until she produced a little business card. Hermione glanced at it, trying to make out the moving letters upside-down.

'Ministry of Magic: Department of Ethics'

The name seemed to ring a bell, but she knew that the Ministry had dozens of smaller departments subordinated to the larger ones. It had to be one of the smaller ones, then. Prewett had them go through the organisation of the Ministry only last year, and Hermione couldn't recall this particular department from his syllabus.

'My husband works for the Ministry as well.'

'Oh,' said Mary Granger, surprised. 'So your colleague isn't–'

Mrs Monboglott fervently shook her head, waving with both hands as if to dispel the notion. 'Oh, no. He's just my colleague. He's not the most … disciplined of men, but he's perfectly harmless, don't worry.'

All three women had a quick look at what was happening on their right side. Mr Lazarus was in the process of recounting some tale that seemed to involve steering a wheel, talking to someone outside of the car, and trying to shove something in front of him out of sight. Hermione's father was puffing and blowing, raising his third beer in cheers.

Both Mrs Monboglott and Hermione's mother sighed simultaneously.

'Why is it you give these lessons if you work for the government, Mrs Monboglott?' continued Hermione's mother, speaking a bit louder to make herself heard over the ruckus of the men. 'Surely you don't need the money? I mean to say, you yourself explained how your husband comes from a good family.'

'There are many people working at the Ministry for modest wages,' said Mrs Monboglott, 'but it's true that I don't exactly need the money. However, it's one of my department's key interests to constantly re-evaluate our progress integrating Muggle-borns. We induced many changes in the past, from the early notification about your daughter's acceptance into Hogwarts to many small and large legal issues.'

'So you mean you want to use these lessons as a kind of feedback?'

'That's right. As a matter of fact, we've pledged to donate our wages. This is one of the reasons why my choice of colleagues was a bit … limited. There aren't many financially independent _and_ sociable Aurors around.'

'Excuse me, but what are Aurors?' asked Mary Granger.

'Oh, they're specialists working to catch Dark Wizards. Their work is a bit more varied, but – in your terms – they're a bit like investigators, policemen, military police, and combat squad all in one. I know it's hard to believe,' she sighed, rolling her eyes in the direction of her colleague, who was trying to balance his empty beer bottle on his brow, 'but they're an elite force. Even that guy.'

'Oh, I don't mind,' replied Hermione's mother with a smile. 'I'm glad they're getting along. My husband was a bit standoffish with Hermione's school friend, so this is a nice break.'

'Your school friend?' asked the Ministry witch. 'From Hogwarts?'

'Harry once visited me here.' At the mention of her friend's name, a thought occurred to Hermione. 'It, er, it won't be a problem that I'm friends with Harry Black, will it?'

Mrs Monboglott smiled at that. 'Not at all. I suggest we start making a rough draft for the lessons now. That way, you and your parents can suggest topics. Oh, and if you really don't mind, I'd rather we keep these meetings between us. A few people at the Ministry could get the wrong idea. Anyway, I feel like we should begin with your personal situation at Hogwarts – just so I can get a clear picture of what we're working with.'

Hermione nodded enthusiastically, relieved by the subtle smile of her mother. They agreed to three lessons of four hours each week as long as Hermione was still on her holidays, and one two-hour lesson each Hogsmeade weekend.

And not very long after that, Hermione's lessons for life started in earnest.

 _Memory Lane_

The early rays of the late August sun gently nudged Daphne awake. She moaned, stretching sleepily beneath her blanket. The separate blankets had been Harry's last line of defence and Daphne's concession when it became all but apparent that she would stay the entire summer.

He was lying to her left, still asleep and facing her way, his hand outstretched towards the no man's land between them. It was impossible for Daphne to ever tire of watching him sleep; it was the one time he couldn't put up any walls or acts – not even for her sake. It was during these moments that he was, well, quintessentially Harry, unburdened by his past, his worries, or all the business the adults really had no business bothering him with in the first place.

But even though Daphne was brimming over with happiness that Harry was virtually opening for her the door to his life, she couldn't help feeling miffed how _holding hands_ was the only thing she had accomplished after weeks of sharing the same bed! It was getting to the point where she kept wondering if she should be dejected about her lack of progress, embarrassed about some of her more obvious ploys, or ashamed of what a failure of a woman she apparently was.

If a desperate test involving a strategically, seemingly lazily buttoned shirt hadn't proved that Harry wasn't playing for the other team or wholly disinterested in her, she might even have considered throwing in the towel by now. That morning, though, she had caught Harry perving at her boobs for several minutes and with great interest while Daphne had graciously pretended to be asleep. And yet, for some pig-headed reason that was completely beyond her, he stuck to his guns. Her only saving grace was that Harry had never downright _told_ her to back off or that he wasn't interested.

That night before the ritual – this was even more depressing – she'd all but shoved his hand down her décolleté before she'd had her little nervous breakdown, but still he hadn't so much as tried to cop a feel. Her mother had once told her that men and boys were generally either untameably wild or irritatingly clueless, but could anyone really be so clueless as to assume a girl didn't know what she was doing when she took your hand and practically had her way with it?!

Obviously, that was all back before Harry had bought her the new pyjamas which – admittedly – were about as sexy as a potato sack. Its shape, too, reminded Daphne of a potato sack. At least, though Daphne was loathe to admit it, it really _was_ comfy.

She was positive it wasn't his … thing … concerning women that was holding him back. They'd had a lot of very casual contact since last summer, and while he was still as introverted as ever, there weren't any of the many hints she'd learned to pick up on over the years. With the other girls from their year like Parkinson or even Granger, they still surfaced occasionally, but at least around those he knew better he seemed to finally be able to relax.

With a sigh that was equal parts longing and frustration, Daphne silently snaked her way out of bed. Throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't about to give Harry an _in_ voluntary show, she hastily got dressed and started packing her belongings and those belongings of Harry's that, by now and in Daphne's very personal opinion, belonged to her by custom and practice anyway.

Tomorrow was the first of September, and Daphne really needed to get a few things from back home like her trunk with all her supplies for school – and, just maybe, some clothes of her own.

Because she'd told Harry only yesterday about that and since Harry wasn't truly awake till noon in any case, she saw no reason to wait for him. She carefully climbed back onto the bed and planted a big, fat kiss on Harry's nose, grinning as she saw him squinching up his face in his sleep.

For the first time in a great many days, she ventured farther from Harry's room than the gigantic bathroom he had all to himself. It was kind of worrying how fast she'd got used to all the luxuries, but she'd have to lie to deny that she was going to miss swimming a few laps in the ludicrously extravagant Roman marble bath every other day. Dragging the little bag she'd found in Harry's wardrobe behind her, she walked down the steps, arriving at the small dining room hoping for an early breakfast.

To her surprise, someone was already there. She hadn't really spoken much to Arcturus (or anyone not counting Harry, for that matter) since that one night, but he didn't look particularly surprised to see her standing in the doorway.

'Good morning, Daphne,' he said cordially, turning a page of the Prophet.

'Er, good morning?' she returned awkwardly, unsure whether she was supposed to bow or not.

But Lord Black simply pointed towards one of the empty chairs. 'Please do be seated. I assume breakfast was why you chose to vacate your shared domicile early?'

Feeling as if her every move was under scrutiny, Daphne stiffly took a seat, trying to evade those knowing grey eyes that peered at her from over the newspaper. Did she have to suffer The Talk now from Harry's guardian who also happened to be the newly established head of her own family?! It couldn't get any worse!

But Arcturus merely snapped his fingers for Minnie to appear, and the little elf busied herself with Daphne's breakfast at once: enormous, lilac fruits that looked like two cabbages glued together; some kind of fried dough sticks; a thick, dark broth that smelled of soy and fish next to steaming hot rice; a more comprehensive assortment of freshly baked bread (from dumpling size to entire pitas) than she would have believed to be allowed to exist; griddle cakes; chutneys; steamed salmon; boiled eggs; something that appeared to be salted and fermented vegetables; a stupendous selection of cheese; cold meat; thirteen different kinds of honey; olives; and much more Daphne failed to identify. For a few seconds, she simply stared at the disproportionate feast that had been served for her alone.

'Cranky isn't here today, and Minnie isn't sure what would be to Mistress' liking,' explained the little elf nervously.

Uncle Arcturus gave a tiny chuckle from behind his paper.

In her desperation, Daphne settled on a small bowl of porridge simply because she was relieved to spot something she was familiar with.

'Is Mistress wishing for something to drink as well?' asked the little elf, hovering at her side.

Daphne, immediately spotting another potential disaster in the making, hastily replied, 'Just coffee! Simple, black coffee, please.'

Barely a second later, Daphne had a taste of what Minnie had brought her. She was used to (and secretly loved) the cheap coffee one could get at every corner in the city, so she was unpleasantly surprised by the rich and slightly acidic taste.

'It be Hawaii Kona,' said Minnie at once, looking up at her through her big eyes and waiting for a reaction. 'Is Mistress liking it?'

Truthfully, the answer would have had to be no, but Daphne really only wanted to have a little snack and something to wash it down with, so she nodded smilingly at her little helper, who bowed deeply in return.

As soon as the elf disapparated, Arcturus raised his voice, not looking up from his paper. 'You're not doing them a kindness by pretending to like something you don't, Daphne. They're sharper than you might think. I suggest being a bit more specific lest you wish for Minnie to show off like this again,' he said with a sweeping gesture at the table that could satisfy one or two famished Quidditch teams.

Daphne grinned guiltily, embarrassed to have been seen through so easily. 'It's okay,' she said, 'I really don't mind.'

She ate her porridge, nibbling on a few olives, and had a taste of some kind of tomato spread that seemed to go well with bread, trying to shrink in her seat, fearing the moment the old man opposite her would start his wigging, for once regretting her choice to dress in one of Harry's shirts.

But Arcturus Black didn't do anything but calmly turn the pages every once in a while.

The rustling was getting to her.

It stressed Daphne that her vis-à-vis seemed so confidently at ease, and – eventually – she just couldn't take the pressure anymore. 'Ehem,' she began eloquently, wincing slightly at how stupid she sounded even to herself, 'I, er, sleeping with Har– I mean, sleeping in Harry's room and all that, er–' But that was as far as she got before she started regretting the decision to speak up.

Arcturus glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. 'Yes?' he asked mildly, but the prompt to continue embarrassing herself in that manner felt a hundred times worse than any tongue-lashing.

'It's not … an issue … is it?'

Arcturus Black hummed pensively, putting down the paper and taking a very elegant, if tortuous, sip from his own cup, seemingly unaware of how anxious Daphne felt. Leisurely, he placed the cup on the saucer with the utmost precision. 'Do you prefer the abbreviated or the conclusive explanation?'

'Short!' She doubted she was prepared to handle Harry's or Arcturus' rigmarole this early in the morning.

The old man chuckled once more. 'No.' Seeing her disbelieving expression, he added, 'As long as you don't force or push Harry to do something he doesn't want to, I don't see any reason to get involved. It has always been my policy to let things of a personal nature run their course. My daughter and my eldest grandchild both made … questionable personal decisions, but I'm not Esmerelle, Daphne. You're your own person, not my or anyone else's underling. You're free to make any decision whatsoever – as long as you're prepared to take responsibility for your actions.'

Daphne, her imagination running wild, felt her ears get treacherously hot, but she nodded happily at Uncle Arcturus before she decided to give a few other dishes a try as well. It only now dawned on her that she was truly, irrevocably free of her grandmother and her little shackles and schemes. Her entire life lay before her, and she had the freedom to make any decision, no matter how fantastical they had seemed only weeks ago. The only question that remained was what would happen if Esmerelle Greengrass decided to push her luck …

 _Memory Lane_

Packing – if it was permissible to call throwing everything that seemed useful into one's trunk 'packing' – was done quickly and without fuss. In the room next to her, Daphne could hear her sister agonising about what to pack, but that was hardly news; in a way, Tori had been preparing for Hogwarts for the better part of two years. After a few weeks at Black Manor, it was kind of … quaint that the walls here in their house in London were so thin. Her room, too, seemed cramped – and not just because she'd put off cleaning up all the potions ingredients for a while.

'Finally vacated your little love nest, have you?'

Standing in the doorway, wearing one of her playful smiles, was her mother.

'What?!'

Ophala Greengrass gave a meaningful nod at the shirt Daphne was wearing. 'Is that a trophy?'

Daphne sighed, dropping the robes she'd been struggling with and sinking onto her bed. 'No.' Seeing her mother's questioning look, she added in a low voice, 'I wish it was …'

Her mother carefully tiptoed inside, sat down next to her, and buried Daphne in a warm hug. 'Oh, sweet pea. Did you fight?'

'No! Not really. I mean, we're quarrelling all the time, but it's not that. I don't know, I–' She bit her lip, lowering her voice to a whisper. 'It just doesn't seem to be happening …'

Her mother hummed sympathetically. 'Have you asked him why?'

'Er, no? I mean, it's plenty obvious what I–'

'Speaking from experience,' interrupted her mother with a knowing smile, 'there are some things you simply have to talk about. Not everything can be solved with a daringly skimpy negligée.'

Daphne sneaked a rueful peek at her mother, but Ophala only laughed.

'Poor Harry. No wonder he looked dead on his feet that morning. Come on, I've got a potion on the fire. You can tell me all about your summer downstairs.'

And so Daphne spent her last day of the holidays being buoyed and spoiled by her mother, drinking hot chocolate and eating cake, recounting the weeks she'd spent with Harry and asking for her mother's opinion on his behaviour. Her mother, meanwhile, asked her to retell how Harry had got her the nightgown three times, shaking with laughter. The laughter was so infectious that, in the end, Daphne couldn't help but join in.

'What's that you're brewing over there anyway?' asked Daphne eventually, watching her mother add a generous dash of pure quicksilver to the mixture. 'I don't recognise it.'

'Ha!' said her mother proudly. 'See? Your old mum still has a few tricks up her sleeve.'

'For now! So? What is it? A pesticide?'

'Oh, it's just a homespun … solution. Maybe I'll show you the recipe some other time. But given the recent lack of demolition sounds from above, I dare say your sister has finally finished packing. Let's have a nice, cosy evening tonight – just the three of us.'

Daphne liked the sound of spending one last evening before Hogwarts with both her mother and Tori, but she rolled her eyes at her mother's antics anyway. 'You make it sound like you won't be seeing us again.'

 _Memory Lane_

'Stop fidgeting already, won't you?' hissed Bellatrix as they strode through the battalion of Aurors that guarded the Hogwarts Express. Everyone else seemed to be in a great hurry, Harry noticed. Instead of the friendly greetings that most of the parents commonly exchanged, they briskly led their children towards the train, shoving them inside while throwing anxious looks over their shoulders as if they fully expected deranged murderers to lurk behind every corner.

Harry might have considered giving a sarcastic remark about the improbability of escapees attacking a station full of Aurors, but – thanks to Bellatrix's enthusiastic attempt to cram half a year's worth of duelling lessons into a few hours – he was having trouble walking without wincing. At least his arm had stopped bleeding half an hour ago.

Leo threw him a sympathetic look. Amy, too, was grinning at him – or smirking. It was hard to tell sometimes.

'Look at them,' said Bellatrix scathingly as she roughly pushed an unwary parent out of the way. 'Scurrying about like skittish deer. Pathetic!'

'I like them this way,' opined Amy, watching a man stumble over the trunk of his son. 'Nice and docile.'

'For now,' said Leo.

'What?'

'Just you wait. As soon as things calm down a bit at Hogwarts, there's going to be trouble.'

'I'm not going to take any crap from anyone this year,' muttered Harry, holding his stinging left side.

'Why would you?!' asked Amy with a look of someone trying to understand something foreign. 'You're weird sometimes.'

'As long as you don't do anything excessively stupid, I'm all for putting the rabble in its place,' said Bellatrix as soon as they'd heaved their trunks into the train. 'But mind your limits!' she added, glaring at her daughter. 'I'll personally break into the castle to give you the best hiding you've ever had if you get our family into trouble!'

Amy merely rolled her eyes. 'All I've got to do is not get expelled, right? Seriously …' Without another backwards glance, she boarded the train, leaving her mother behind.

'We'll be seeing you at Yule, then,' said Leo, nodding at his mother.

'Yes, yes. Keep an eye on your sister!'

Again, Leo nodded.

For a second, it looked as if Bellatrix was struggling to say something, but then she gave a curt nod at both Harry and Leo and disapparated with a whirl of her dark cloak.

'Come to think of it,' said Leo as they followed Amy onto the train, 'we'll be having Apparition lessons this year, won't we?'

'I should think so,' said Harry.

'Looking forward to it? Might be useful.'

'Not exactly. Portkeys can do pretty much the same and then some. Apparition is probably the way to go during combat, true, but I'm not too fussed.'

'Well,' said Leo with a queer smile, 'most people start working on their mastery before even attempting a Portkey.'

'And get a _licence_!' called a voice from behind them.

Tracey was behind them, struggling with a trunk that seemed at least twice her size. Harry shrugged, casting a silent Weight-Reduction Charm on her belongings, causing Tracey to topple over her suddenly feather-light trunk. Muttering furiously under her breath, she glared at him, rubbing her red nose. 'Thanks so much!'

Tracey looked the same as ever. If physical growth had finally been achieved during the last few months, it wasn't readily recognisable under her billowing robes. Apart from the raw skin that stood testament to her headbutting the trunk, she looked the same as ever. Even the frown she wore as she glared at him was exactly how he remembered it. For some strange reason, that was kind of comforting.

Harry grinned. 'Don't mention it.'

They found Amy further down the train, reserving them seats. Harry cautiously and very stiffly settled into a seat by the window. With an enormous sigh, he leaned back, closing his eyes.

'What's up?' asked Tracey, sniggering. 'You've always talked like my grandparents, but aren't you withering away a bit too quickly now?!'

Harry didn't answer, choosing instead to massage his left shoulder, wondering if he should check in with Poppy after all.

'Harry had a last minute, er, training session from yesterday evening until two hours ago,' said Leo.

'Oh. Didn't go so well?' asked Tracey.

'It was great!' said Amy excitedly.

'What? The both of you trained, too?'

Amy shook her head. 'Nah, but we got to watch.' She sniggered. 'It was _funny_ watching Harry crawl around the room.' That bit of information seemed to quell Tracey's natural curiosity. Harry levelled a half-hearted look of scorn at Amy, but she merely smiled. 'Nah, he did okay, really,' she added almost reluctantly.

'I'll, er, take your word for it,' said Tracey hastily.

Daphne and Hermione filed into the compartment not much later.

'Hey, everyone!' Daphne waved cheerfully.

'Hello,' echoed Hermione.

Harry's brow wrinkled as he shot a tired glance at the Muggle-born. Something seemed a bit different about her.

'Daphy!' cried Tracey accusingly. 'Where have you been all summer?! My owls kept coming back all confused and stuff.'

Daphne shook her head, eyes widening meaningfully. 'Not now!' she mouthed.

The reason for his cousin's uncharacteristic discretion probably was the very nosy latecomer who was just about to drag his ornate trunk into the compartment. 'Oh, what's up, guys?' asked Draco. He appeared to have grown even more over the summer, and Harry wouldn't be surprised if the Malfoy heir was more than a full head taller than him by now. For some reason, it really annoyed Harry that he was forced to look up at him. For a second, Draco seemed confused about everyone staring at him. 'Talking about me, ey?' he asked smugly. 'Yes, it's true we had a very pleasant vacation in–'

'Oh, you were abroad?' asked Daphne coolly. 'I'd never have guessed. Malta, I expect?'

'No,' said Draco, the temperature of his smile dropping a bit. 'As a matter of fact, we were in Greece.'

'Good for you.'

'Yes.'

'Right.'

After a second of silence, Leo pointedly cleared his throat. 'Why don't you tell us about your vacation, Draco? Daphne and Tracey seem to have something private to discuss anyway.'

Harry didn't really feel like partaking in either the rather tense banter or shared recollection of lapsed summer memories. He stared outside, watching the trees and villages zoom by, ignoring Amy's and, later on, Tracey's not so subtle 'clumsy' movements whenever they moved, that – for some miraculous happenstance – never failed to hit his burning left side in search for support.

From the corner of his eye, he eyed a pair of Aurors marching up and down the train. Wasted money and pointless actions for sake of doing anything at all – that's what it boiled down to. According to Harry's grandfather, the vast majority of criminals had been recaptured within the first week. Hardly two dozen of them had been smart enough to give the coastal Muggle villages a wide berth. Many of them weren't exactly people anymore, strictly speaking. Surviving twenty years in Azkaban without going completely mad was a heroic effort; fifty years a stunt bordering improbability. At least nobody had been enough of a feeblewit to suggest letting the Dementors roam freely.

Harry's eyes wandered to Amy and Leo. Their uncle had only been in Azkaban for about fifteen years, but it would take him months to become anything like a functioning human being again. Then again, Lestranges weren't particularly famous for their balanced state of mind, so maybe he was good to go?

How was Sirius?

A wayward elbow checked his aching ribs. He coughed painfully, doubling up in his seat.

'Tracey!' snapped Daphne angrily.

'Whoops, er, sorry? Overdid it a bit this time. Only wanted to check if our resident grandpa is still awake.'

'I'm fully awake – thank you!' wheezed Harry, giving Tracey a dirty look.

Tracey gave him a wide, companionable smile. 'Don't mention it.'

'So how are those lessons going, Granger?' asked Draco.

'Oh, they're great! I've been learning loads of really interesting odds and ends.'

'I notice that you've finally stopped slouching.'

Hermione beamed, nodding politely at Draco.

 _So that's what it was_ , thought Harry. He had been sceptical, but it seemed that those teachers Draco had hired really did make an effort. She did look a great deal more confident without that characteristic bad posture. _The burden of knowledge weighs heavy_ , mused Harry with a grin.

 _Memory Lane_

Under the watchful eyes of the Aurors, they filed into Hogwarts Castle where they finally – at least from Harry's perspective – lost their eyeballing lemming train of overpaid glory hounds. But it was good to finally be back. Harry gave an old, particularly fierce Gargoyle statue a friendly pat as he followed his friends towards the Great Hall.

Peeves was lurking in dark alcoves, pretending to be an escaped Azkaban inmate by rattling chains and terrifying the more gullible second years. When Harry strode by, Peeves halted in his act, fake blood dripping in a rather pathetic fashion from the chains in his hands. After a second, he shook himself, retreating through the wall behind him with one last glance back at Harry.

'How did you do that?' asked Amy.

'Do what?'

'Scare him like that.'

'He was scared?' inquired Harry sceptically. It was hard to tell much from the comically grotesque facial expressions of the poltergeist.

'Oh, yes,' said Amy, nodding sagely. 'On a scale of one to ten, I'd say that was a solid 6.8. A really solid scare.'

'What kind of scale is that?' asked Tracey with a grin. 'The Lestrange Scale of Scariness?'

Amy rolled her eyes, shrugging with both of her hands in the pockets of her robes. 'Whatever.'

'Mr Black, Miss Lestrange, Miss Davis, inside if you please,' said Professor Flitwick, appearing even more diminutive standing next to the gigantic portal to the Great Hall. His brow was furrowed, and he, too, appeared to be having a second look at Harry as if he was struggling to put something in place.

But a hand landing firmly on Harry's shoulder kept him from following his friends.

'One second, please. I need to borrow Mr Black,' said Aenor's voice from behind him.

'Oh, alright. But please do mind the time, my dear,' squeaked Flitwick, nodding them off.

Aenor led him towards the first door down the leftmost corridor, holding it open for him to walk inside. It was a broom cupboard.

'Er, what exactly is this about?' Harry heard himself ask.

'Nice to see you, too,' she replied, rolling her eyes and nudging him inside before closing the door. 'We can talk about how dreadfully dull your holidays were later,' she said with that teasing grin of hers, 'but right now I'm more interested in why you've got a few partially fractured ribs. And why you positively _reek_ of blood. And not in a good way, mind you.'

Harry shot the woman posing as their Defence teacher a cool glance, wondering how exactly someone could smell of blood in a good way. 'I had a training session with my aunt before we left.'

Aenor regarded him with an unreadable expression. 'You mean Bellatrix?'

'Yes.'

'That woman's such a bleeding nutcase! I can tell from just a glance that she used _you-know-whats_ on you. You can't go into the Great Hall with Dumbledore looking like that!'

'At least the shaking stopped. Come on, it can't be that bad …'

Her gaze froze him in place. 'I _was_ thinking about the,' she threw a short glance towards the door, 'the Imperius. I know the spell's lifted, but I can tell. And now you're trying to say that bitch had you under the Cruciatus as well?!'

'Er, I'm not sure, to be honest. She doesn't do me the courtesy of actually saying the names of the spells she's bombarding me with.'

She stared at him for three long seconds. 'Wait here for a minute.'

And so he waited in the cold of the little storeroom, leaning against the wall. Sleep was as inviting as ever – even though Harry would have prefered a location with fewer spiders dangling from the ceiling. And without the terrible draught. After _five_ minutes, Aenor finally returned, carrying a corked mint-green phial.

She shoved it into his freezing hands. 'Drink!'

Harry fumbled to undo the cork. Immediately, a thick, biting yellow fume escaped the little phial. It was quite impressive how much mess such a tiny bit of potion could produce. 'What is it?'

'It's nothing sinister, don't worry. I'm still under that fabulous Vow, remember?'

'Oh, right. Slipped my mind, sorry.'

'Lucky you.' Nodding towards her concoction, she added, 'It'll get you through the feast.'

The potion was making Harry's eyes water. 'And does this marvellous remedy contain anything _but_ alcohol?'

'As a matter of fact, it does. Hurry it up now! Even Flitwick will get antsy if I kidnap you for much longer.'

Pinching his nose and ignoring Aenor's snort of amusement, he downed the whole thing. Harry thought he could make out caraway and pepper before a powerful surge of 'disgusting' overwhelmed all the individual components, leaving him choking. His throat was on fire.

'Disgusting,' he cawed, grimacing as he tried to ignore the lingering aftertaste.

'You just fail to appreciate fine liquor. Now get in there and try to act as normal as you can. We'll talk after your first Defence class. Oh, and one last thing.'

'Hmm?'

'If you ever dare to make up such a feeble, idiotic lie to me again, I swear there's going to be trouble! Do you honestly believe that I think you wouldn't be able to recognise the Cruciatus?!'

It was quite rare for Harry to get caught lying, but even then the feeling of actual shame was not something he was too familiar with. Still staring at the door in front of him, one hand outstretched, he mumbled, 'Sorry, I– Bad habit.'

He felt her gaze percing his back. 'Go,' she said. 'We'll talk later.'

 _Memory Lane_

Aenor didn't really pay attention during the Sorting. Slytherin gained a grand total of five students, less than a fifth of what the Hufflepuff mob netted. The Ravenclaws were silently smug about their acquisitions, the Gryffindors boisterously bodacious, and the night sky was still all shades of blue and grey. Political reality, or so it seemed, didn't mix well with school equality and the house selecting system. Speaking of Hufflepuff, one excitable, petite blonde almost sobbed when she became a badger, throwing sad looks in Harry's direction. It was mildly amusing to see the other Slytherins' faces as Harry clapped for a Hufflepuff, but – all in all – it was all terribly boring business, in Aenor's opinion.

She picked at her food, the sounds of the feast washing over her like the surf of the tide. If the clinking of glasses and clanking of tableware were the waves, then the incessant twittering of the student body came close to the unending cries of the seagulls – obtrusive and ever-present. It was a mystery to her how people like Dumbledore or Flitwick seemed to enjoy the rambunctious atmosphere. At least Snape looked at particularly loud and exuberant brats with a killing glance every now and then.

Her mind was preoccupied, and she didn't even attempt to partake in McGonagall's and Charity's discussion. It wouldn't have been easy, in any case, given that she was usually seated at the very edge of the table.

Halfway through the feast, she made up her mind.

'Professor Flitwick? May I ask you something personal?'

'Ah, but of course! But it's Filius, my dear – Filius! We don't need to go through that another time, hmm? We've known each other for quite some time now! It just doesn't feel right to pretend being strangers, wouldn't you agree?' he said cheerfully.

'Of course,' she replied, nodding graciously. 'I've recently heard a rumour that you used to be a person of significance in the British duelling scene. Now, I know better than to trust whatever Hogwarts' rumour mill spews out on a daily basis, but I just couldn't help asking …'

The tiny Charms Master chuckled. 'This one time, they're not wrong, though I usually strive to keep that knowledge from the students. I really want them to focus on my subject – not on my exploits in the duelling ring. Are you interested in the noble sport?' he asked enthusiastically.

'Not professionally, I'm afraid,' she replied, taking note of his somewhat disappointed expression.

'But whyever not? From what I've seen, you'd make a most formidable opponent!'

'Let's say, my mind is on other matters for now, Filius.'

'Oh, such a pity. But how can I be of assistance, then?'

'Well, I was wondering if you knew someone I'd recently met. She seemed … like just the sort to give duelling a try, and I couldn't help wondering.'

'And so we come back, full circle, to tittle-tattle again,' said the tiny man, chuckling.

'But at least it's something more interesting than the love interests of hormone-driven teenagers,' she said with a smirk, causing him to erupt in appreciative laughter.

'I couldn't agree more. Well? Who is this mysterious duellist you wish to learn about?'

'Bellatrix Lestrange,' she said, gauging his reaction.

'Ah,' he said, the laughter dying in his throat. Very slowly, he put down his cutlery.

'So you know of her?'

'I do,' he replied succinctly.

'Can you tell me anything about her? Did you know her only as a student or as a duellist, too?'

'I've … never crossed wands with her if that is what you wish to know. I lost my interest in professional duels around the time she started making waves in the scene.'

'Around the time,' she repeated, leaving the words dangling in the air.

He sighed, taking his napkin and dropping it on his still half-full plate. 'I knew her as a student, of course. She was, well, brilliant in her own special way. But she's always had problems controlling herself. Bellatrix, the girl, I remember as a fiery beauty who could flirt with the boys one second and tear their ears off if they got pushy the very next.'

'That sounds like more than just a little "problem",' Aenor commented drily.

'Yes, well, there were some nasty incidents, to be sure. Around fifth year, it started to get a little better, though she was still, by all means, a very loose wand.'

'What does this have to do with her duels? I assume there is a connection?'

Flitwick nodded sadly. 'I'm afraid her temperament did not diminish in the slightest during her duels, and that culminated in some very unfortunate … accidents.'

Aenor raised an eyebrow. 'You mean there were deaths? At your highly regulated professional duels?'

'Several, in fact,' Filius replied with a defeated sigh. 'They had to suspend her, in the end, even though there never was a case where her guilt could be sufficiently proven. Still, what followed I can only describe as an uproar in the scene; the board had, after all, decided to ban the most promising newcomer at the time, who, as a matter of fact, hadn't lost a single duel up until that point. I personally chose that time to retire.'

'Understandable, I guess. And what happened afterwards?'

'I really couldn't say. I heard she got married eventually, but that's about all I can tell you, I'm afraid. We're not exactly moving in the same circles if you understand my meaning.'

'Of course,' she replied hastily, smiling reassuringly. But her eyes stuck to where Harry sat next to the Lestrange siblings. 'Thank you for sharing that, Filius.'


	51. ML: Whispers of the past

**Whispers of the past**

* * *

'Scalpel!' demanded a voice.

'Scalpel,' returned the second voice at the edge of perceptibility.

'Swab!'

'Swab.'

Blood and disinfectant hung heavyly in the air, numbing his mind. He felt dull.

'Bone saw!'

'Bone saw.'

He couldn't see. His head was covered, and he couldn't feel any of his limbs from his neck downwards. There was the sound of someone struggling with a particularly crooked tree. It shook his body this way and that way – despite the restraints.

'Swab!'

'Swab.'

'No, do it again! I can't see anything like that!' After a short pause, the voice continued, 'Alright, Forceps!'

'Forceps.'

There was a loud clunking sound of something heavy hitting the bottom of an empty bucket.

'Swab!'

'Swab.'

'How are you proceeding?' asked a third, oily voice from behind him.

'We'll be done shortly, Effendi. Scalpel!'

'Scalpel.'

'It really is some dreadfully unpleasant business, isn't it?' asked the third voice. It seemed more bored than repulsed, the words merely an echo of common expectations.

'Yes, Effendi. Please mind your steps; the whole floor is a bit slippery. The old overflow is doing its best but … Swab!'

'Swab.'

There were footsteps behind him. 'My, but it is such a splendid beast, isn't it?'

'Yes, Effendi. Scalpel!'

'Scalpel.'

'Such a pity, such a pity,' mumbled the third voice sadly. 'Such a waste! Are you sure we have no use for the rest of it?'

'Yes, Effendi. Alright, hold your wand, we've got exactly one shot at this. Don't ruin it!'

'Yes, Doctor.'

'One, two – three!'

Something yanked at his body, and he heard someone mutter a few incomprehensible words. He felt the presence of magic.

'Success! Success!' The voices shouted excitedly. They seemed very pleased with themselves. He felt like asking what pleased them so, but the world was slowly turning dim …

'Do you think it's still alive? Its head seems to be moving.'

'Oh, yes, Effendi. Undoubtedly. It's a very fine specimen, and they're known for their vitality. But the problem will solve itself in a few minutes. We'll dump the body when it's cold.'

'Let's have a look while we can, shall we? We always give the courtesy of looking into the eyes of the dying.'

Someone lifted the cover from his head. He stared into cold, coal-black eyes. In the background, two men with long, pointy beards, wearing erstwhile white coats lifted a little lump of pulsating flesh into the air. It looked sort of like a cross between a ball and a knot with some fleshy tubes attached to it.

'Farewell, beast,' said the human with the smooth voice and predatory eyes. 'You may rest assured–' He chuckled, starting anew. 'You may rest, assured that your donation is appreciated.'

 _Memory Lane_

Harry opened his eyes, the mildly curious coal-black eyes still etched in the front of his mind.

He was in his bed in the Slytherin dormitories, safely tucked underneath his blanket, his right hand clasped around the soothingly familiar black wood of his wand.

Frowning, he sat up, rubbing his temple, trying to recall the strange dream in greater detail. It had been vivid, unnaturally clear. If he concentrated, he was sure he could still count all the little golden ringlets in the impressive beard of the one the other ones had called 'Effendi'. After a second, he gave a cursory sniff of his bedding. It smelled nice and freshly laundered – not at all like the small chamber and its foetid miasma of bodily secretions.

Throwing back his blanket, he stood up, stretching in the cool air of the dungeon. He felt refreshed. As a bonus and contrary to his nagging suspicions, he also didn't suffer from a hangover. It was Monday, the second of September, 1996 – the first day of his third year. Whatever this term had in store for him, and he intended to make sure that finding out what had happened to Sirius was part of that, literally anything should be more important than some vaguely disturbing dream about the victim of a vivisection.

He'd seen worse.

When the other boys finally entered the common room, they found Harry well-groomed and wide awake, sitting in front of the perpetual fire, legs crossed, taking a few notes with his right hand about a book in his left.

'Good morning, Harry,' said Leo.

Harry waved the hand holding his quill, not looking up.

'When did you get up?' asked Draco, shivering a bit in the cold morning air.

'A bit early, I suppose,' said Harry, turning a page.

'You're too keen for your own good!' Draco threw himself lazily on top of a couch, resting his legs on the dainty little coffee table. 'This is our first day. What are you swotting for?!'

'This isn't school-related.'

One of the older girls who was just walking towards the secret entrance scowled at Draco, turning on the spot and marching directly towards the boys, a silver-green badge pinned to her robes.

'Trouble heading our way,' said Leo, nodding towards the girl.

'It'll be fine,' said Draco, shrugging dismissively.

'Take that foot off the table, Malfoy.'

'Or what?' said Draco, smirking. 'Going to take points, are you?'

The girl looked at him coldly. 'You know, the sixth-years are going to be brewing Amortentia this year. You know that pudding of a girl? Around your age? Midgen, I think she's called. If you don't take your bloomin' legs down right this instant, you might suddenly develop a disturbing fascination with her pimples.'

Draco's legs flew off the table. 'Alright, alright. No need to get nasty …'

After one last sneer at Draco, she stalked off without giving Harry or Leo as much as a glance.

'How can someone wear such an innocent ponytail and have such a mean streak?!'

'You're the only one judging people based on their haircut, Draco,' said Leo.

'Maybe because you always piss her off?' added Harry without diverting much attention from his book about Dementors. Given how many people actively avoided Slytherin during their Sorting, assuming any girl – or anyone in general – in Slytherin was a star-struck maiden full of innocence and wonder was … quaint. Most people in Slytherin were normal, of course, just kids like any other, but most of them had a hardness to them that the other houses commonly lacked.

'You'd figure she'd be pleased to meet me, wouldn't you?' continued Draco. 'Like, walking up to me and saying, ''Ho there, dear cousin'' and I'd be like ''Hey, Rosier. Good to see you in fine health as always. And may I congratulate you on your exquisite taste in hair styling?'' Yeah. That's how it should be. Not acting all high and mighty.'

'Ho there, dear cousin?' repeated Leo with a little grin. 'Has anyone ever actually said that to you?'

'Well, no. But they should! I mean, I'm glad you guys are here, so isn't it natural to say something nice now and then?! Blaise and Parkinson are cool and all, but they can be a bit dull at times. You guys are never dull!'

Harry looked up with an expression of faint surprise. 'Why, that actually did sound kind of nice, Draco.'

Draco harrumphed importantly. 'I don't know why I'm trying. I'm surrounded by weirdos and … dangerous weirdos. In our clique, we've got an incurable bookworm with a scary background–'

'Oi!' protested Harry half-heartedly as he turned another page in his borderline forbidden book he'd acquired through family channels.

'… a nutter who likes petting Chimaeras and exploring nutty forests full of vicious stuff–'

'It was only that _one_ Chimaera! How long are you going to go on about that?!' grumbled Leo sullenly.

'… a mad potion princess who's prone to hitting people–'

Harry considered coming to Daphne's defence, but he had to admit that Draco was being rather spot on.

'… a smart-arse dwarf who just doesn't shut up–'

Harry liked that one as well.

'… a _Muggle_ -born in Slytherin–' Draco went on with his spiel, making a face. '… and, ahem, your sister, Leo. No offence.'

'No glib moniker for Amy?' asked Harry.

'No.' Draco took off his boots, massaging his feet. 'You can't imagine how that dance hurt. It starts itching again whenever I think about it. Man … Anyway, as I was saying and to sum it all up, you're all a bunch of weirdos! It's no good for my mental health that Tracey and me, of all people, are the most ordinary far and wide.'

'We shall strive to better ourselves,' said Harry solemnly, winking at Leo, who grinned back.

Draco looked at them, his brow furrowed. 'Nah, it's okay. I think I prefer a bunch of weirdos to a throng of awestruck Hufflepuff groupies.'

'You're making me blush, Draco,' said Harry dryly.

'Maybe Rosier slipped him the potion already?' suggested Leo.

'I suppose it might explain his charm offensive.'

'Haha,' said Draco sarcastically. 'Nevermind, then.'

The girls, uncharacteristically, joined them only after Harry, Draco, and Leo had decided to start breakfast. Tracey looked dead on her feet. Hermione and Daphne looked simply dead, possibly a few feet _under_. Amy was shaking with silent laughter, holding Daphne up with one arm. Hermione was staggering behind, swaying dangerously.

The boys stared.

'Er, good morning?' ventured Draco cautiously.

Daphne snorted contemptuously, shambling towards the bench. '…t's so bleeding good about it?' she mumbled, almost inaudibly.

'I feel like we're missing something here,' said Draco, his eyes darting from one girl to the next.

Daphne collapsed at Harry's side, overturning his cup. '–ry' she muttered.

Harry raised an eyebrow, turning his head towards Amy.

The older Lestrange smiled. 'Daphne was a bit worried about her w–'

'AMY!'

'Well-being,' continued Amy smoothly, mischievous joy dancing in her eyes. 'So I suggested going for a bit of a run every morning. You know. To stay fit and all.'

'Ah,' said Harry, nodding. He could see where this was going. 'And I suppose it was you who proposed the track?'

Tracey, moving her legs like they were heavy trunks controlled by very thin strings of silk, awkwardly took a seat. She snorted. 'No! "Lapping the lake" is not a track! We only just got back in time for breakfast.'

'You circled the _lake_?' repeated Draco disbelievingly.

'Of course not,' said Tracey, dragging several bowls, two plates with fruit, and about a dozen sausages towards her. 'We turned back as soon as we realised what she was up to. But we'd been jogging for about an hour up to that point already!'

Leo's eyes shone with excitement. 'Hey, we should also totally g–'

'Denied!' said Harry firmly.

'Are you mad?' protested Draco, looking at Leo as if he were infected with some strange, foreign disease.

'Oh,' said Leo with palpable disappointment.

Harry tried to motivate Daphne to eat for a while before he gave up when she dozed off with her head on his shoulders. Tracey looked more or less fine, if tired, but Hermione was staring through red and unfocused eyes at a book in her trembling hands. Harry didn't have it in him to tell her that she still had a few branches stuck in her hair.

Amy was chatting energetically with her brother about something she'd seen down by the lake.

'Schedules' barked Professor Snape eventually, handing out the timetables.

Harry silently accepted his own and Daphne's schedule, ignoring Snape's vituperative glare at his cousin's state. But her excellence in potions apparently kept him from making a comment.

'Oh, you got a free period first thing Monday morning. Nice!' said Draco. For Draco, the most important thing about his studies were his breaks from selfsame.

Harry hummed thoughtfully, scanning his own and then Daphne's timetable. 'Not for you guys, though. You've got Care of Magical Creatures.'

'It appears that you've already prepared for your stay in the wilderness, Miss Granger,' hissed Snape.

Hermione looked up through bleary eyes. 'Pardon me, sir?'

Tracey reached over the table and carefully disentangled the testimony of their little excursion through the woods from her hair.

'I expect students of my house to turn up looking smart and orderly in the morning. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, sir,' responded Hermione in a small voice, staring at the branches.

When Snape was out of earshot, Amy said, 'We could also try to find a better track through the Forest. I liked our shortcut on the way back!'

'What?! We're still talking about the _Forbidden_ Forest, right?!' asked Tracey, spraying tea all over the table. 'No way!'

'Well, seeing as that's the only forest we've got here, we'll have to make do, won't we?' asked Amy with a grin.

'No!'

'We could also jog around the castle,' proposed Amy reluctantly.

'And have everyone ogle us?!' asked Daphne appalled. With a groan, she sat up straight, staring with unseeing eyes at her schedule. 'Thanks, but no thanks!'

 _Memory Lane_

For the first time in a few months, Harry sought out the Hogwarts library. Madam Pince eyed him beadily, stalking through the rows, ever watchful for any signs of food, loud behaviour, or general cheerfulness, determined to make everyone as miserable as she was. Seeing as only Harry and a few older students had decided to visit the library first thing on the first day, a lot of her attention was focused on him.

But Harry simply ignored her breathing down his neck, picking tomes and books with collected calmness. Then he delved into a few books about the history of Azkaban. Only when the bell rang loudly throughout the castle did he finally lean back and gather his supplies.

With an extra cheerful wave at the librarian, he made his way towards the third floor, hurrying through the hustle and bustle of the castle. He could only imagine the kind of look Aenor would give him if he was late on his first day. Near the Defence classroom, hastening around the last corner, he nearly collided with a lively, blonde bouncy ball.

'Oww!' it squealed.

Harry, acting purely on instinct, caught the sleeve of the girl that had been trying her best to run him over. Admittedly, her petite figure wasn't suited to this kind of physical aggression. 'Are you alright, Miss Greengrass?'

She looked up at him. 'Shouldn't you apologise, Black?!'

He looked at her, one eyebrow cocked.

Her expression cracked into a wide smile only two seconds later. Looking around to make sure they were alone, she gave him a stormy hug.

'They treating you okay?' asked Harry, looking her over.

'Oh, yeah, they're all really nice. Most of them. Some found it odd that my sister's in Slytherin, but – you know …'

Harry nodded sympathetically. 'It'll be alright, don't worry. They're probably just curious.'

Tori nodded back, staring at her feet.

'And what else did they say?' said Harry, who considered himself something of an expert on interpreting both sisters' body language.

'They, er, they don't like you much. Hannah's been saying all sorts of mean things.'

'She's always been like that, don't worry. Just don't make a scene; shouting and stomping your feet won't really do you any favours …'

'I know _that_!' said Tori, making a face. 'I'm not Daphne. Anyway, you really don't mind that I'm in Hufflepuff, do you?'

'Why would I?' Harry smiled at her, rubbing her head. 'I wouldn't have minded being in Hufflepuff. Or in Gryffindor.'

'Really?' asked Tori, saucer-eyed.

'Really. Come on, now. You've got lessons, don't you? You don't want to be late on your first day.'

Tori nodded, giving him another short hug before she ran along.

Harry sighed, watching her slide around a corner. Remembering that he, too, was in the process of being rather late, he imitated Tori and started sprinting towards the Defence classroom.

The door, however, was already firmly shut, and he could hear muffled voices from within.

 _Damn!_

He knocked with equal measures of politeness, foreboding, and resignation.

'Come in!'

Having a very good idea that this was going to turn nasty but having no clue whatsoever what to do about it, he obediently opened the door. The entire class was staring. Daphne was making a face Harry subconsciously associated with bystanders near a particularly brutal accident.

'Ah, Mr Black. How good of you to honour us with your presence – eventually.'

Reluctantly, he turned towards his professor. He knew Aenor wasn't fond of teaching. But what she hated even more were unprofessional behaviour, whining, and being a brat in general. 'Sorry, Professor,' he said, bowing politely. 'I seem to have forgotten the time.'

'Wasting ours in the process,' she remarked icily. 'Take a seat – no! Not there. I'm sure Miss Greengrass can cope without your help and guidance for a single lesson. How about you take a seat … right … next to Miss Abbott and Mr Crabbe?'

Aware of the hostile glares from the Hufflepuffs, he quickly took his seat.

'Right. And how about … how many points does Slytherin currently have, Mr Malfoy?'

'Er, something like twenty? Professor?' Draco added hastily, retreating into the depth of his seat, as far away from her flaring nostrils as possible.

'Right. Twenty. Classes just started, of course. So that's twenty points from Slytherin. I trust we can return to more important matters again? Unless someone's got any objections? None? Splendid.

'I was just about to point out that I consider this class slightly behind in terms of our schedule. But since most of you have stopped fumbling or dropping your wand most of the time, I dare say we can finally come to more important matters than reading books …'

'Sorry for the trouble,' said Harry under his breath.

Crabbe shrugged. 'It's okay.'

For a second, Harry glanced at Hannah Abbott. She had somehow managed the impossible and was turning away from him while still facing the front. He didn't want to waste a perfunctory excuse on someone who wasn't interested in even looking at him. He really hated that conceited cow.

'… after which I shall have you face Boggarts, Acromantulas, ghosts, vampires, gargoyles, werewolves, and trolls – in a reasonably safe environment. As you should but might not know, these are all creatures you may encounter in our little corner of the world. The headmaster has … dissuaded me from instructing you about Dementors or Inferi before your OWLs, so that will be all for now. We'll round out our year by starting on curses – finally. It is my hope that we'll finish with those during the first term of your fourth year, leaving us with a more than reasonable amount of time to deepen your understanding about some of our earlier material and revision. While my previous years performed … adequately in their examinations, I started teaching here at the same time as you began attending. Naturally, the headmaster will attach a great deal of importance to your year's performance, so see to it that you come prepared. Any questions?'

'OWLs are still more than a year away,' whined someone in the back rows.

'Precisely, Miss Wright,' said Aenor, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. 'And that is why you should start to study steadily from now on instead of cramming in everything during the last few weeks. Alright, as I said, we'll start with freshening up what you know about counter-curses. Any volunteers?'

The class remained stoically silent.

'In that case – Mr Black, since you're sitting right at the front, would you please assist me?'

 _Ah_ , thought Harry gloomily. _It was going to be one of_ those _lessons._

As he marched to the front, his friends watching him as if he were about to wrestle a troll, he wondered if she hadn't been pissed off before he arrived late.

 _Memory Lane_

The answer, as it turned out, was: yes, she had been.

'Who does he think he is?!' she raged when the rest of the class had left.

Harry, to his regret, remained the only outlet for her rage. Calmly, he pressed a soothingly cold compress on his right shin, making calming gestures and nodding in agreement whenever she glared at him. 'He's the _headmaster_ ,' he pointed out with some amount of caution.

She scoffed. 'He's a dwindling dogmatist, clinging to his precious concepts of morality for dear life. Nevermind that this whole rotten ship is only waiting to sink!'

'I thought he was merely asking to have a look at your proposed curriculum?'

'Which is the same as saying that he doesn't trust me to handle it myself! And it's not like he bothers to do so with the _real_ failures he has in employment. No, Trelawney is free to poison you brats with all the nonsense she's been making up for years, but _I_ have to suffer the indignation of being questioned about my work. It's like putting me on probation without outright saying so!'

'Did you do something to put him on edge?' asked Harry, trying to instil some amount of logical reasoning into her clamour. 'He might appear languid, but you have to agree that Dumbledore must have had his suspicions when you got us out of the Ministry last year. I think he just didn't want Prewett to meddle with school business, and that's why he smoothed it over.'

She turned around, about to snap something at him – but then she paused. Within a moment, her face settled into a ruminative expression. 'You might be onto something.' With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of her desk, looking at him – really looking – for the first time since he'd entered her classroom. 'Ah, whatever. It's not worth it. So? Feeling better today?'

'Fine,' he replied. 'Better than I thought actually.'

She grinned. 'No hangover?'

'No?'

'Well, maybe you've finally started growing up, then. So – what shall we do this year? Seeing as you don't seize up whenever I happen to come close or don't seek to learn something completely beyond your ability–'

'Hey, I _did_ manage, in the end.'

'Yeah, you did,' she said with a wink. 'And it only took you a quarter of an hour to cast a single spell, too – after studying it for an entire _year_.'

Harry flicked his tongue. 'You're going to lord that over me for how long exactly?'

'Until I find something more demeaning, naturally. If you prefer, I could also go on about your and Davis' expressions when that building collapsed. That look on your face was _priceless_. Kind of reminded me of that Hufflepuff, that Goyle boy.'

'Er, no, thanks.' Harry thought back on his rather careless trip through London. There had always been one thing bothering him since then … 'Say, are you an Animagus?'

She cocked her head, looking faintly surprised. 'Whatever makes you ask that?'

'Well, I've been thinking, and there has been a strange amount of ravens about.'

She laughed. 'That's all?'

'No. What really got me thinking was you admitting that you followed us all year. Even before that, I could have sworn I heard a raven croak in the forest after our flight from the Lethifolds. And that was late at night – ravens are diurnal! And I don't think they rest deep within forests either.'

Harry didn't want to go into how he always stopped short whenever he saw a corvid nowadays, like that one time in London with Daphne. It was getting a bit embarrassing.

'How astute, but no – sorry to disappoint. I have a … gift with ravens and – to a lesser extent – with crows, but that's really it. Becoming an Animagus is a long and dangerous process, not to mention difficult. I've never tried it – nor do I intend to.'

Harry leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin. Still, even if she really wasn't an Animagus, that didn't make him feel any easier about her as good as admitting that all the ravens were spying on him. The fact that Aenor probably didn't think more of it than babysitting didn't really make him feel any better either.

'Are you interested in becoming an Animagus? I'm sure McGonagall could give you a few pointers if you butter her up long enough.'

'No, I don't think so. I think I'd rather focus on playing to my strengths.'

'How so?'

Harry twirled his wand lazily around his fingers. 'I've been relying so much on obliviation these past two years. It's getting a bit embarrassing that I'm still so bad at it.'

'Aren't you exaggerating? I mean, you didn't have any trouble obliviating the Aurors, did you? Most fully qualified wizards wouldn't be able to pull it off – even though your spell was a bit crude.'

Harry frowned. 'No, but I'm a bit worried that it'll come back to bite me. As soon as someone realises that I've been messing around with Obliviate, sooner or later they'll connect the dots. Fawley, London, the Ministry – if that were to happen, I'd be royally screwed. I mean, how many people are strolling around Britain wiping the minds of people like me? No, I need to find a way to solve my problems without leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind. Especially with that Antonius fellow still lurking around Britain – even if he's, thankfully, not at Hogwarts anymore.'

'I believe I told you in the past, but you need some expertise with Legilimency before you can start to use that spell in any artful fashion. Your spellwork will degrade if you start messing with the human mind without truly understanding it.'

'To what consequence?' asked Harry, aware that he might regret the question.

'Well, your test subject might lose touch with reality, for one.'

'You mean go insane?'

'Not exactly. Not at first, anyway. But you won't exactly stay the prime example of sanity with permanent hallucinations or perpetual headaches either. The human brain is such a fragile apparatus – so easily unhinged.

'Much more likely, however, you'll make it easier for the recipient of your spell to unconsciously resist the spell. A fatal flaw for a trick that relies on guile and subterfuge.'

'You mean they could regain their memories on their own?' asked Harry, shocked. 'Even later?'

'Oh, yes. The more powerful and disciplined the individual, the more likely they are to break free of the spell eventually. It usually starts with that vague feeling of déjà vu, like a memory just out of reach. If the charm was particularly powerful, the victim might develop something of a chronic, mild headache. Eventually most realise something's wrong and seek professional help. And even though there are rumoured to be spells that cannot be detected even nowadays, you might as well throw in the towel at that point. Even Muggles show similar symptoms.'

'That's bad,' commented Harry curtly.

'Quite. Obliviate isn't a spell for half-measures, Harry. If that's your course of action, you have to be fully committed to doing _anything_. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. Obliviation isn't without risks. Some people are naturally more resilient to it than others. If you're in a pinch, you shouldn't ever hold back. A strong charm killing all memories is highly preferable to a suboptimally cast clever spell with the intention to hide the magic. Of course, not that many people could pull off either with any notable success.'

Harry stared at his wand for a while. Aenor, in the meantime, called a few elves to prepare lunch for two.

'Are you sure you couldn't teach me Legilimency? I don't want to drop the charm altogether; it … feels kind of like something I'm good at.'

'You are,' replied Aenor with a tired smile, pouring herself a generous measure of an Italian red she'd summoned from Merlin knew where. 'But you shouldn't rush these things. Legilimency training is serious business, and you'd need someone who would trust you enough to allow it. It'll take years!'

'Please!' insisted Harry. 'Would it hurt to give it a shot? It's not like I'd be able to see anything past _your_ Occlumency anyway.'

'That's right. Because your spell will fizzle out like a Hufflepuff's wet dream,' said Aenor with a teasing smile.

'Come on!'

She rolled her eyes, putting a bit of steak on her plate. 'Alright, alright. I'll give you _one_ lesson to leave you thoroughly disillusioned. But not right now, not with Dumbledore snooping around.'

'It's a deal!' said Harry, grinning.

Aenor shook her head, rolling her eyes. 'No, Harry. A deal is usually an agreement during the course of which _both_ parties stand to gain something. That is to say, more than amusement at the other party's impending failure.'

'Well, you stand to gain the joy of my company, don't you?' he said cheekily.

She gave him a schoolmasterly look, patting his head over the table. 'Nice try, but you should test that line again once you're actually as tall as me, little lordling.'

Having his head patted like that was strangely irksome. With a little mental flinch, Harry decided then and there to spare Tori the embarrassment in the future.

 _Memory Lane_

Antonius, the man they had once called The Sleuth, was currently writhing on his chair, his face pale and sweaty, his long hair entangled, wild, almost threatening to strangle him. Only the measures to soundproof his office were preventing his subordinates from dashing into the room to see what was causing the racket. Moaning, hands flailing erratically, knocking paperwork, inkstands, and paperweights from his desk with long, pained, desperate sweeps, he tossed and turned in his chair, miraculously remaining seated. His personal owl had long since retreated to the most faraway corner of the room, seeking shelter behind a large bookshelf.

Ten minutes, twenty, an hour – no matter how troubled, how disturbed his sleep, the man just didn't appear to wake. Thick red veins stood out against his feverish skin. It was as if he was struggling with something.

There _were_ powerful spells, ancient and forgotten spells, spells of such dreadful potency that they were not only beyond ordinary, mortal men but also far removed from any clumsy examination such people could conduct.

But there _also_ were people naturally resilient to any kind of magic manipulating the mind.

With a scream that rattled the windows, the giant with the auburn hair came to.

Loud footsteps and only seconds later his two subordinates stormed into the office.

Fujiwara gasped.

'Boss?' asked Boris, cautiously drawing near.

Slowly, like a primordial monster awakening after aeons of slumber, Antonius rose from his chair, looking at the both of them through bloodshot eyes that seemed to be smouldering.

His voice was but a whisper, the faintest murmur of ghosts, but it roared through the room like a thousand peals of raging thunder.

'He escaped. Grindelwald escaped.'


	52. ML: Echoes of the past

**Echoes of the past**

* * *

'Are you sure we shouldn't call more people, boss?' asked Boris, throwing a branch after a yapping racoon.

'And why haven't we reported this to the ICW, sir? This is extremely irregular; we'll get into so much trouble for acting out of our mission parameters,' said Fujiwara, her voice wavering.

'Forty years. Forty years! Think, the both of you! Do you honestly think I'm the first person to notice that we've been guarding an empty prison?! I _remember_ the courtyard. There wasn't any sign of human presences disturbing the place for decades!'

'You mean some of the old geezers know Grindelwald escaped?' asked Boris, disbelief leaking from every word. 'There sure were a lot of different opinions about how to deal with him but – surely – they all wanted him gone, right?!'

'All those seated within the ICW are extremely powerful Occlumens – for obvious reasons. And only the most senior members of the select committee are aware of Grindelwald's,' Antonius kicked angrily at a tree that – to both of his subordinates' concern and disbelief – shook visibly, 'imprisonment. Someone's been covering this up! The special committee, chairmen – someone is keeping this under wraps. Remember, there was supposed to be a permanent checkpoint as well. I'm going to make it my business to find out who and why! And where the devil Grindelwald's off to! I'll find the bastard if it's the last thing I ever do.'

'But what are we supposed to _do_?' asked Boris, gesturing wildly. 'They'll come after us! If – and I'm not saying I believe it – if there really is a traitor, we'll never be able to make a case! They'll drown us in red tape! One veto is enough to–'

'Yes,' agreed Antonius grimly, trampling through the undergrowth. 'Which is why we need to gather as much evidence as possible before making it all public. We'll start with an unofficial, covert investigation, tracing possible leaks while we're at it. I've already petitioned for special leave for us three and a few guys I've called in from headquarters. Officially, we're on a training camp. Remember your counter-infiltration training? We'll do it by the book – just don't bother writing any reports for now.'

Fujiwara nodded. She was still rather pale. 'I … I just can't believe he escaped. I don't even feel the Memory Charm! I'm not doubting you, sir, but …'

'You wouldn't if it really was _him_. He was always a bit … special … with spells,' spat Antonius. 'You needn't think any less of yourself because of it.'

'Who did you call from headquarters, boss?'

'Just a couple of people. Ahuja, Mao, Sterling, and Glücksburg.'

Boris groaned. 'Not him! He's a prat!'

'Yes, him,' retorted Antonius briskly. He could almost _hear_ Fujiwara scowling at her colleague. 'I'm not going to make the same mistake again. We need all the expertise we can get – and Glücksburg knows more than even I'm comfortable with. Not surprising given his family background. Careful now, we're almost there. We'll stay at least one mile clear this time – I don't want to trigger anything unpleasant and wake up with another bleeding headache.'

In truth, Antonius wasn't at all happy to call Glücksburg and Sterling. So far, he had been able to avoid relying on anyone with ties to British families, but it seemed like it couldn't be helped. What he needed right now was the best his squad had to offer – and that, unfortunately, included Glücksburg, a man who was related to practically everyone, including the British queen, as well as Sterling, the Irishman who'd won the European Duelling Circuit at age twenty-seven.

'Sir?' asked Fujiwara.

Her tone of voice made Antonius stop in his tracks. She sounded thoughtful, worried. And even though his only Japanese subordinate was worried more often than not, she was still a damn fine officer with a good head on her shoulders. 'Yes?'

'Sir, what about the book?'

'Book?'

'The book, sir,' repeated Fujiwara patiently. 'The book that put us on,' she shuddered, ' _his_ trail. Don't you think the person who smuggled it into our collection _and_ the person besmearing the Ministry floor have to know? Assuming they're two different people, of course.'

Antonius rummaged in his belt pouch until he produced the shrunken copy of _Historiography of Omens of Magic – DoM_. Speaking of treacherous … 'Or maybe they wanted to do away with us.'

'Wha–?'

'Oh, I see,' said Fujiwara, nodding. 'It stands to reason that … he … left more defences than mere Memory Charms. But then again, they should have known that the boundary was warded by memory spells, shouldn't they? So what was the point? With all due respect, sir, you're anything but an unknown factor in certain circles. Anybody who's anything would have known that you were specifically selected because you stood a chance against some of … his … magic. Sir, if we do this, if we're really going to do this, we need to investigate the Unspeakables. It could have been one of them who smeared the paint on the marble after the invaders left. And even if it's not – it could still be someone with connections to the department. How else could they access restricted knowledge?'

Antonius grunted in acknowledgement. 'Say, why are you only a corporal again, Fujiwara?'

She smiled rather shyly for a woman in her thirties. 'Because I can't bring myself to bellow at people, sir.'

 _Memory Lane_

Hogwarts' student body had never been particularly close-mouthed. Except for that one delightful attack on Prewett's character, Harry never bothered with rumours and gossip, considering it a waste of time in the best of cases. It was quite distasteful, really. But, sadly, he couldn't deny just how many people seemed to keep the giant wheels of the rumour mill going. Hearsay would be such a delightful weapon – if only it were possible to harness it. But whatever those eternal wheels were grinding, the wheat of truth seemed unwilling to be separated from the chaff of fancy and lies.

Even as the first fortnight passed, all the students of Hogwarts could talk about was the incredible prison break someone had orchestrated, and theories and conspiracies were running wild. From foreign agencies trying to destabilise the country to old Grindelwald supporters avenging and freeing their comrades – every oh so unlikely thesis (though Harry thought of them more as wild guesses than anything) found its proponent. Some Gryffindors, the Weasleys chief among them, told anyone who'd stop to listen that it was all a plot of the government to increase the budget for the DMLE.

Privately, Harry suspected that they just wanted to annoy their uncle.

But when all the chatting, babbling, blathering mouths finally shut up about the mysterious force that had attacked the prison ('If there even is one – if you know what I mean', Harry heard Fred Weasley tell a few Gryffindor first years during dinner), they started asking questions about the escapees – which was why Harry found himself accosted more often than not by curious Ravenclaws and Slytherins. House Gryffindor soon lost interest in banalities like the worst prison break in a thousand years, and Hufflepuff was utterly convinced of his family's involvement, so at least Harry didn't have to suffer those fools bothering him with inane questions all the time.

'I mean to say,' continued his fellow third year Slytherin Yaxley, who had grown even more wiry and annoying over the last summer, 'Sirius Black is your _godfather_. And he's from your family – presumably! At least he's called Black. And we all know there's something between the Lestranges and your family … Lucky break, isn't it, that there's also a Lestrange among those not found yet. Come on, you can tell me.' He gave Harry a conspiratorial shove, shivering with barely suppressed excitement. 'I promise I won't tell!'

Harry politely pretended to consider this for a second. 'Leave me alone,' he said eventually, trying to concentrate on his astronomy charts again.

'Come on, man! I'm dying to know!'

'Bugger off!'

'Just a hint. Hey, how's this?! You nod, just a bit, and that's it. No speaking required. Clever, ey?'

'Do you speak English?' asked Harry, pronouncing every word with great care as if he was speaking to a half-deaf foreigner. 'Get lost!'

Yaxley was about to really test Harry's patience when Amy simplified the matter by jabbing one of Harry's straight edges very roughly into Yaxley's celiac plexus. The boy coughed, barely staying conscious, sinking to his knees and fighting for breath. Amy coldly shoved the heaving boy out of the way with her foot.

'I see what Leo meant,' she said as she took a seat next to Harry, ignoring the wheezing, whimpering boy. 'They _are_ being a bit annoying.'

'Tell me about it,' said Harry with an exasperated sigh. 'How are things on your end?'

'Oh, fine! They learned not to bother me with boring stuff like that.'

'I'm sure they did. Where's the rest of the bunch?'

'Draco's out flying, and Leo's watching. You know – Quidditch tryouts.'

'Oh, yeah. Forgot about those. Or tried to forget maybe. And the girls?'

'I'm a girl, too,' replied Amy with the ghost of a smirk.

Harry waved it off. 'You know what I mean.'

She shrugged, leaning back with her hands behind her head. 'No clue. Chatting about something or other no doubt.'

The door to the common room opened. Hermione, struggling to uphold her newly improved posture under the burden of all the books she was wont to carry around, walked over to them.

'Hey,' said the Muggle-born, nodding at them in greeting. Harry was pleasantly surprised that she'd finally let go of the habit of waving at people from across the room. 'What are you up to?'

'Nothing much,' said Amy, poking Yaxley between the ribs with her boots until the boy crawled away.

Harry saw Hermione trying and failing to ignore Yaxley's state. 'Well,' she said, coughing to collect herself, 'I thought you might be able to assist me a bit if you've got the time? My teacher said I should take notes on things I've been wondering about as a sort of homework.'

Amy rolled her eyes but didn't say anything.

'Who _is_ that teacher of yours again, Hermione?' asked Harry.

'I told you already I'm not supposed to say. They might both end up in trouble because of this!'

'So, it's actually two teachers?' said Harry with a bit of a smirk.

Hermione glared at him. 'Anyway,' she huffed, producing not so much a notebook but a note-tome. 'There were a few questions I wanted to ask you specifically. Question one–'

'What is this supposed to be?!' said Amy with a snort. 'Some kind of test? Wizarding World Entrance Level, maybe?'

'Question one,' repeated Hermione pointedly. 'What is your opinion on the distribution of wealth in magical society?'

'Tough luck?' suggested Amy.

Harry tried not to laugh, choosing to answer seriously. 'Well, any system with strong hereditary leanings tends to concentrate assets on a smaller portion of the population, but it's not an integral part of wizarding society, is it? I'm hardly an expert, but weren't peerage and the church the wealthiest institutions for a good few centuries in the Muggle world? I mean, the Muggle monarchy is still of the opinion that it's entitled to all of Britain, so …'

'But it's the _crown_!'

'Your crown maybe – figuratively speaking of course,' said Harry with a lightning fast grin. 'Who am I to deny others the right of self-deprecation. Definitely not my thing, though. Anyway, money accumulates; that's just how it is.'

Hermione frowned, rustling with her papers. 'Just because it's always been that way doesn't make it right. The world isn't a cake to be shared between the powerful!'

'Way of the world, little Miss Mudblood,' said Amy, closing her eyes. 'Way of the world … If you're smart, you'd better stop asking silly questions and get your plate already.'

'Question two,' said Hermione, ignoring Amy's comment. 'What – in your opinion – is the point of political clans.'

Harry answered most of Hermione's following questions, leaving only a few unanswered that too blatantly crossed the line about spying on his family like question twenty-three: 'What families do you see politically aligned with the Blacks and for what reason?' It was tiresome, but he couldn't resent anybody for their willingness to learn.

Amy slept through the entire afternoon on the couch next to him. Only when Hermione had finally thanked Harry and made off with her notes did the elder Lestrange open her eyes again. 'Oops – slept through Transfiguration. Ah, whatever. Granger's sounding you out, by the way,' she said, stretching her lithe limbs.

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking at his cousin. 'I don't think she's got the cheek.'

'Maybe. Maybe not. Is it true she's going to meet with her teachers next Hogsmeade weekend?'

'I think so. She told Tracey and Draco yesterday at breakfast.'

Amy stood up, yawning like a lion. 'This year is boring. Maybe I'll have a look and see what they're up to.'

Harry shrugged. At least Amy wasn't in the habit of making other people part of her little adventures – in contrast to Leo.

 _Memory Lane_

With Amy in tow, Harry walked towards the Great Hall. He liked walking with Amy. While he felt slightly embarrassed about some Hufflepuffs calling the siblings his goons (if anything or anyone was capable of controlling the elder sister, neither Bellatrix nor Harry knew of it), he rather liked how uncomplicated they both were once you knew where they stood. Amy, for instance, was as uncomplicated as a frenzied bull – and probably just as short-tempered.

And even though he would never admit it to Hermione, he kind of enjoyed Amy scaring all the annoying people away.

Sometimes, however, her presence could also spell trouble.

'Miss Lestrange. Miss Lestrange!'

Harry and Amy turned as Professor McGonagall stormed in their direction.

'Blasted …' muttered Amy.

'Well, better get it over with quickly, I say.'

Amy shrugged, putting her hands in her pockets. 'I'm used to getting shouted at from home anyway.'

Harry fought the urge to grimace.

'Miss Lestrange!' McGonagall came to a stop right in front of them, holding onto a suit of armour to stand her ground against the tide of students. 'Where were you this afternoon?!'

'Madame Pomfrey–' began Amy, but the Transfiguration Mistress cut her off.

'… reported to me only minutes ago that there have been no incidents yet!' McGonagall's nostrils flared, her lips a thin line of displeasure. 'Ten points from Slytherin for lying to a professor!'

'Got lost underway?' suggested Amy with yet another shrug.

Harry winced. Sometimes she simply didn't care.

Professor McGonagall glowered. 'And another ten points as well as a detention!'

'All right,' said Amy blandly. 'Will that be all, Professor?'

McGonagall hesitated for a second. Then she nodded curtly, pointing a finger that was quivering with anger in the direction of the Great Hall.

Amy ambled down the corridor without another word, hands still in her pockets.

'Really,' said Professor McGonagall. 'That girl is …' She cleared her throat. 'Anyway, I wanted to have a short word with you as well, Mr Black.'

'Me?' asked Harry, bewildered.

'Indeed. But we needn't hold our conversation in the middle of the rush for dinner. Unless I'm mistaken, you have Friday afternoon after your Transfiguration class off?'

'Yes, Professor.'

'Very good. And now hurry along.'

Harry nodded, diving into the crowd to follow Amy.

When he'd finally battled his way through the throng of hungry students, he found Amy already seated with Draco and Leo at the Slytherin table. And judging from Draco's smug look …

'… so it was only natural that it turned out to be me. Best choice, really. Still, I don't like our chances against some of the other teams like this. I'm an improvement – the ace of the team, really – but the others have a much larger pool to draw talent from. I'm thinking about asking Father to buy us some brooms. What do you think, Leo? Oh, hey, Harry!'

'Ho there, dear cousin! Congratulations, I suppose?'

Leo choked on his pumpkin juice, but Draco seemed extremely pleased.

'Why, thank you, my good chap!' he said importantly.

Amy casually smacked Draco on the back of his head. 'Stop that nonsense!'

Draco grinned. 'Anyway, I already told Leo everything obviously–'

'… even though I was there …' mumbled Leo.

'–so you might want to listen to how exactly I got selected!'

'Er, yeah. But I'll be eating in the meanwhile,' said Harry. 'That's okay, right?'

'I suppose. As long as you listen!'

And Harry tried to listen. He wasn't particularly big on Quidditch, but he knew that Leo and Draco enjoyed it. With a sigh, he resigned himself to having to watch Draco's matches from now on.

He was saved from Draco's third re-enactment of how he'd swiped the Snitch from under Higgs' nose when an owl flew across the Great Hall, circling above him once before landing unceremoniously on his plate.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He didn't recognise the owl.

'Who's that from?' asked Amy.

'No idea.'

Before he had the chance to open the envelope, a second owl swooped down, almost hitting him round the head with another letter.

'Damn! What the–'

With a frown, Harry looked at the latest letter. Again, there was no hint about the sender – unless the few splotches of mud identified his secret correspondent as the literate mud-monster.

'Er, Harry? There's another one,' said Leo, pointing towards a third owl that came crashing down towards his dessert.

Harry gently caught the bird. It hooted thankfully, let go of the envelope it had clutched with its talons and flew off at once. Perplexed, he stared at the three letters.

'Well? Are you going to open them or what?' asked Draco, slightly miffed at how his dramatic acting had been interrupted.

Amy and Harry shared a brief look. As one, they produced their wands, inspecting the suspicious letters.

'Can't find anything,' said Amy, sounding almost disappointed as she prodded the second letter once more. 'Maybe it's fan mail?'

'Fan mail?' repeated Harry, aghast.

'You're right,' said Amy with a grin. 'Can't imagine who'd take a shine to spoiled midgets.'

'Haha,' grumbled Harry, choosing to ignore Draco's laughter and Leo's somewhat plain attempt to keep the smile off his face.

He tapped the first envelope, and it opened smoothly.

'Harry,

I know I'm probably the last person you expected or wanted to hear from, but I had to let you know that I'm back in the country. I've been … hearing things, bad things about the break-out. I know you don't trust me. I know you must probably hate me. I don't want to waste your time telling you how sorry I am.

All I'm asking you is to be careful. Something's wrong. I don't know what it is but something …

If anything comes up, don't hesitate to ask Dumbledore for help. I know you've got your differences, but he's nothing if not sympathetic to the children under his care. He's a great man. If you cannot trust me, maybe you can find it in yourself to trust him.

I'll write again once I know more,  
Remus Lupin'

Harry stared at the letter for half a minute. With a sigh, he threw it over his shoulder where a well-aimed charm lit it on fire. If only he could purge his memory as easily.

'What was it?' asked Leo curiously.

Harry scowled. 'It was from Remus.'

'What?!' asked Amy, her eyebrows in danger of vanishing in her fine, curled hair. 'You mean the werewolf?! Come off it! What does he want – a pat on the head and a dog biscuit?'

'Not exactly,' said Harry with an amused grin. 'He wants me to me to become best friends with Dumbledore.'

Amy snorted. 'Great advice,' she said. 'You should also register your wand with the DMLE while you're at it.'

Harry smiled at her. 'Well. It's none of my business what he wants.'

Curious, he produced the second envelope, glancing at the hasty scribble – and his heart skipped a beat. He recognised the script. It was from Sirius.

'Harry,

I'm in hiding and safe. Had to let you know. Will probably stay where I am for a while to wait out Auror patrols around the coast. Procured a wand, but it's not working too well. Maybe I can break into another home to use the Floo or something, but Hogwarts might be watched. Don't send an owl! But had to let you know. Listen, Bones is trouble, but maybe you can do me a bit of a favour and ask for a Lazarus at the DMLE? He was a great friend of your father's, too. Maybe he could help.

Hoping to see you soon,  
S.

P.S. Please don't involve my family in this. You know how I feel about them.'

 _What the hell is going on?! Was Rabastan wrong?!_

Harry's smile slowly turned sour. Sirius didn't know – didn't know that his family was Harry's now as well. With a complicated wiggle of his wand, he created a little bubble around the four of them to keep out eavesdroppers. 'It's from Sirius,' he muttered, confused why the letter didn't make him happier.

'WHAT?!' yelled Draco, Leo, and Amy all at once.

'He got away?!' asked Draco.

'Is he – you know – at your home?!' asked Leo excitedly.

'No, he–' Harry frowned, re-reading the passage of the dirty letter. 'He's in hiding. Didn't say where. Probably afraid the letter might get intercepted.'

'At least he got away,' said Amy. 'Not too shabby for a blood-traitor.'

'Very tactful,' muttered Leo.

'Did he have advice for you, too? I mean, he must want help to get to safety, right?' asked Draco.

'Well, he–' Harry scowled, looking at the last lines of the short letter for the third time. 'He actually _does_ want me to get in contact with an old friend of his or something.'

Amy looked at him shrewdly. 'And why is it that confuses you so?'

Harry looked up, staring at his cousins. 'That man's apparently working for Bones.'

'WHAT?!' they yelled out in unison again.

'An Auror or a Hit Wizard?' asked Amy, her eyebrows seemingly vanishing for good from surprise. 'Has he gone totally nuts?!'

'Well, he has been in Azkaban for almost ten years,' said Leo gently. 'Maybe he's a bit … confused.'

'Thing is, I don't think so,' said Harry, looking at the steady handwriting. 'Look, the writing is dirty, a scrawl, and has been done in a hurry, but it looks quite normal otherwise.'

'It's been some time since his escape,' said Draco thoughtfully. 'Maybe he's been laying low and recovering?'

'Must have been,' said Harry with a shrug.

'But you're not _actually_ considering contacting an Auror, are you?' asked Amy with a hint of alarm.

Harry faltered for a moment, but then he shook his head. 'I don't know. Maybe? But it sounds insane!'

'Yes, it does!' said Amy emphatically. 'Harry, I'm the last person to call someone out on being a little quirky – even unhinged. But that's full-on harebrained! Why would you risk so much to help someone who discarded your family like a piece of trash?'

'I think so, too,' opined Leo. 'Even though I wouldn't have put it quite like that.'

'He _did_ rescue me,' said Harry somewhat defensively.

'Yeah, that's great and all, but he's asking you to contact an _Auror,_ ' Draco made a face, glancing at the letter in Harry's hands. 'Have you ever heard about that person?'

'No, but I don't know anything about what Sirius or … James Potter did at the Ministry. They never talked about it. I mean, it could well be that this … Lazarus person is a friend of theirs.'

'Even Aurors have friends – probably,' conceded Draco.

'That's nuts, Harry! No sane person would ever advise you to contact the DMLE,' repeated Amy seriously. 'Least of all to help an escaped inmate!'

Harry shrugged, folding the letter carefully and putting it in his robes. 'I'll have to think about it. Well, at the very least I suppose there's no chance the last letter can be any more confusing than the first two.' He gave a weak chuckle as he opened the last letter.

He read the first few lines. Then he read them again. Then a third time. He stopped smiling.

'Hey, Champ,

You won't remember me. The name's Peter Pettigrew. I don't spend much time in uptight, little ol' Britain these days, but a friend of a colleague of my best mate's landlord heard that, unless I'm tragically misinformed, you either already have or are about to get some very unexpected mail.

There's some stuff you don't know. I know it, and I'm willing to sell. A man's got to earn a living. I'm sure you understand. You're with the Blacks now, right? You've got to have loads and loads of dough.

James Potter was kind of an ass, but he was a loyal ass – I'll give him that much. If you've got any brains at all (not that I'd blame you if you didn't, considering your progenitor), you better start questioning stuff right now. Better trust nobody than one person too many. This is a world of snakes, and don't I know it.

If you're interested in hard truths, you can contact me via my solicitor. Slytherins make great solicitors, by the way; paranoid and devious! I left his card in the envelope. If you involve the DMLE, Dumbledore, or anyone else I haven't approved of, the deal's off. Looking forward to a richer future for the both of us (and that greedy son of a … solicitor, I guess). Well, us being richer and you richer in knowledge. One man's trash is another man's treasure, am I right? No hard feelings.

Your new best buddy,  
Peter'

Harry looked into the faces of his friends. 'Okay, I admit it: this year got weird really fast.'


	53. ML: Undeliverable, return to sender

**Undeliverable, return to sender**

* * *

'Settle down, settle down!' called Severus Snape placidly as the rest of the Slytherins strode inside.

He busied himself with his paperwork, waiting for his house to find their seats. The Gryffindors were already seated, muttering furiously; had any of them been late, much less half the house, it would have been raining detentions.

'As you might have heard from other members of staff, this year represents a crucial part of your academic careers – such as they are. Whatever you fail to internalise, you will be desperate to catch up on next year with your OWLs looming ever closer. Thus,' he said, sneering at a few Gryffindors, 'I will not tolerate any dim-witted tomfoolery with our projects, and I shall punish any shortcomings most harshly, no matter how easily explained in some of your cases they might be.'

His cold eyes darted momentarily to Finnigan, causing Draco to snigger.

Professor Snape chose to ignore him. 'It is also my duty to inform you that you shall be given the option to attend special Apparition lessons this year. Everyone intending to participate should contact his or her Head of House. A Ministry official shall be your teacher, with a handful of Hogwarts' staff in attendance. The cost of this special lesson will be twelve Galleons. You will be able to take one of the Ministry tests as soon as you turn seventeen. Any questions?'

A few Gryffindors raised their hands.

'None?' continued Snape smoothly, looking down at his notes so he wouldn't have to acknowledge the waving hands. With a tap of his wand, a set of instructions appeared on the board. 'Very well. The Wideye Potion, also known as the Awakening Potion, serves as an effective countermeasure to several malicious poisons and physical maladies or injuries. Can anyone name at least a single one? Miss Greengrass?'

'The Draught of Living Death, sir.'

'Indeed, five points to Slytherin. Can someone list at least one medicinal use of the potion besides its use as an antidote? Finnigan, how about you regale us with your far-famed wisdom.'

'I, er, I dunno – Professor.'

Professor Snape gave a humourless little smile. 'Astonishing. Three well-deserved points from Gryffindor. But perhaps another brave lion is willing to step into the breach?'

Ronald Weasley was about to snarl something in anger when one Gryffindor girl reluctantly raised her hand.

'Patil!'

'Physical concussions, sir?'

Snape grimaced, failing to find anything wrong with the answer. 'The instructions are on the board. There will be silence. Begin!'

'Professor Snape can be really mean,' said Hermione as they left the Potions classroom later on. 'Is there really a reason to be so nasty towards the Gryffindors?'

'Maybe not, but it's great for its entertainment value,' said Draco, grinning.

Hermione scowled, muttering something inaudible as she purposefully slowed her steps to fall in line with Tracey and Daphne.

'Is it really so fun to provoke her at every turn?' asked Harry mildly.

Draco sniggered. 'Yup, it sure is! Anyway, those Gryffindors got what they deserved. Did you hear them grumbling, acting all cranky just because this year's Head Girl isn't a bloody Gryffindor?'

Harry nodded. 'I did.'

'I rest my case, your Honour.'

'But do you have to be so petty about it?'

'Petty? Me?!' He pulled on Harry's robes, dragging him to the side of the corridor, waiting for the girls to pass by. Lowering his voice, he said, 'Speaking of petty, Goyle told me someone hexed Abbott's shoelaces to trip her whenever she had her hands full. Incidentally, that must have happened right after our Defence class. A real mystery, that, ey?'

Harry shrugged, but he didn't bother fighting the small smile tugging at his lips. 'It was mostly harmless. Besides, I _know_ Abbott. She's a prime example of a conceited cow.' He didn't add that he greatly enjoyed her kissing the floor in front of the entire school that morning. He figured that went without saying.

'Just because she didn't like to play with poor little orphaned Harry when he was five years old?'

'No,' returned Harry coolly, 'because she's one hateful, sneaky drama queen.'

'You're way sneakier than her.'

'Are you seriously trying to make a case that I'm worse than _Abbott_?'

Draco laughed. 'Nah, I'm just winding you up, mate. That rag bag can go crawl into a swamp for all I care. Come on, if we don't hurry, that old dragon will bite our heads off.'

Harry and Draco were barely on time, taking their seats at the very back as the bell rang. Professor McGonagall's lines hardened, but she didn't say anything.

Harry couldn't bring himself to pay attention to McGonagall as she began to explain the intricacies of inanimate to animate matter Transfiguration, especially insofar as it concerned reptiles. With a bored glance at the board, he surmised that they were going to try to change some kind of metal into a turtle. The wiggling diagrams and rather large charts didn't exactly present a problem for him, but he'd long since learned how little that would help.

In the end, he gave up on ignoring the equally bored Draco, and the two of them played a stealthy game of Battlebrooms on two pieces of Harry's parchment. It came as no surprise that when it was finally time to test the spell McGonagall had taken painful steps to explain to the class, Harry and Draco both performed rather miserably.

'A4!' hissed Draco.

'Miss.'

'Bollocks! You're cheating!'

Harry smirked.

'Careful, old bat approaching,' mumbled Draco.

'How about you try again, Black,' said McGonagall as Draco surreptitiously sorted their game boards between his stack of parchment (but not before, Harry noticed, he snuck a glance at Harry's sheet).

With a nod, he prodded the teapot with his wand. Nothing happened.

'I know you're fairly advanced with non-verbal spells, but it might be best if you tried verbally again. At least for now.'

Harry sighed inwardly but performed the spell again, this time muttering the incantation. The teapot, however, continued to mock him in all its rusty glory.

Over McGonagall's shoulder, he could see Hermione inspecting a turtle which seemed to be hiccupping steam.

The teacher turned his teapot in her hands. There was absolutely no change whatsoever. 'Well, better continue practising, Black,' she said before her beady eyes fell on the sniggering Draco. 'Your turn, Mr Malfoy.'

Harry didn't bother to hide his smirk as Draco's spell accidentally broke off the handle of his teapot.

By the end of the lesson, Harry had managed to produce a kettle with some shell design. Draco, to McGonagall's bewilderment, had turned his teapot into a toad.

They laughed about it, Draco and Harry both convinced the other one had performed worse.

'At least I managed to transfigure my teapot!' said Draco smugly.

'Sure. If only you had managed to change it into something even remotely resembling a tortoise,' replied Harry, rolling his eyes.

'Details, details! The outcome isn't all that important; what counts is being first and best!'

When Harry didn't hurry up and pack his things, Draco tapped his foot impatiently. 'What are you waiting for?!'

'McGonagall told me she wanted to have a word with me.'

'Need some catnip to distract her?'

Harry smiled, shaking his head. 'See you at dinner. You've got Quidditch practice, right?'

Draco nodded, casually swinging his bag over his shoulder. 'The brooms should be there too. Time to practice my victory laps!'

Harry took his time to gather his things, but eventually he found little reason to dally any longer. Curious, he approached the Transfiguration Mistress. 'You wanted to speak to me, Professor?'

'Yes, I did, Black. Sit down,' she said, conjuring a seat that looked slightly more comfortable than the school chairs.

Harry did as he was told, looking at his teacher with polite interest.

'Have a biscuit,' she said, pointing at a little jar on her desk.

Harry took one, nodding graciously, though he made no indication that he was going to taste it.

'It's been … difficult, I confess – having you attend Hogwarts under a different name and in a different house. In a way, you're at least as much Sirius' as you are your parents' child – if not by blood.'

Harry didn't bat an eyelid, still waiting with an expression of vague courtesy.

'You're not supposed to have favourites, obviously, but Lily and James were two of mine. Did you know that?' said McGonagall with an almost mellow look.

'No, Professor.'

'I even liked Sirius,' she said with a crooked smile, 'though I never quite figured out why. It's a great tragedy what happened to your family. I … I sometimes regret not being able to do anything for you back then. First with your parents and then …'

'That is kind of you to say, Professor,' said Harry evenly, not feeling moved in the least. So what if she'd wanted to help? The important bit was that she hadn't. He'd had the sympathy of all of Wizarding Britain, but only Arcturus, Sirius, and Regulus had come to his aid – and two of them had paid the price.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, returning to the here and now. 'Anyway, I actually wanted to discuss your performance in my class.'

For the first time during their conversation, Harry was mildly surprised. 'Yes, Professor?'

'When you first set foot in my class, I was convinced that you'd do exceedingly well. Your grasp of magical theory seems … more comprehensive than what I could reasonably expect of my fifth years. And yet I've seen the quality of your work deteriorate to the point of mediocrity. Do you have some kind of explanation for that?'

'I'm sorry to disappoint you, Professor, but I guess Transfiguration has never been my forte.'

'But I was right, wasn't I? You _do_ still effortlessly follow the theory behind it all.'

Harry shrugged modestly. 'I suppose so, Professor.'

'Prove it.'

'Excuse me, ma'am?'

'Prove to me that you understand it. Otherwise, I'll have to conclude that you're intentionally bungling your tests.' Her sharp gaze seemed resolute.

'Wouldn't proving that I understood the theory cast even more doubt on my performance, Professor?' asked Harry with a lazy grin.

McGonagall's lips were a thin line of displeasure. This was apparently no time for smart backtalk.

With a sigh, Harry got up, walking towards the board. After a second of pause, he started wiping parts of the equations, altering the charts, writing additional lines between the original instructions, his terrible scrawl mixing with McGonagall's neat script. After four or five minutes, he sat down again, looking expectantly at the Head of Gryffindor House.

'Those are the instructions for the reverse transfiguration,' she mumbled disbelievingly. 'Did you learn them by heart from next year's books?'

'No, Professor.' Seeing her sceptic frown, he added, 'It's just an application of the underlying principles. I've never tried nor seen that particular spell.'

'Transfiguring animate matter is decidedly more difficult,' she said doubtfully.

'Yes, Professor, but the theory isn't.'

'You've studied how magic affects humans, haven't you?' she demanded suddenly.

The question had a few pointy hooks, but Professor McGonagall wasn't a very experienced angler. 'A bit,' he admitted politely. 'But I've been mostly concerned with Charms, Professor. I'm perfectly able to disassemble most hexes into their theoretical components, but I'm far from the best at casting them within my year. Bones and Abbott, I'm sure, could attest to that.'

'Well, I've heard that Filius and Bathsheda praise you in the highest tones, so I'd assumed … And you're really not holding back?'

Harry sighed, putting his biscuit on the desk. With the utmost concentration, he drew his wand, his mind embracing the concept of nothingness. ' _Evanesco!_ '

Professor McGonagall jumped in surprise, looking at him with shock. 'That's a fourth year spell! The wandwork was flawless, too!'

'Yes, Professor,' said Harry with a pained little smile. 'But look.' He pointed at the biscuit. 'I first understood the mechanics and theory behind elementary vanishing spells when I was twelve. Several teachers have assured me there's nothing wrong with my concentration or the movements of my wand.'

He stood up, bowing towards the Transfiguration Mistress. 'But I've yet to vanish so much as a single crumb. Good day, Professor McGonagall.'

McGonagall stared with a frown of puzzlement at the biscuit. 'Good day,' she replied weakly, sounding puzzled.

 _Memory Lane_

'He wrote the lines as fluently as you or I would have, Albus!' said Minerva McGonagall, walking circles into the carpet of Dumbledore's office. 'He didn't make a single mistake – not one mistake! It took me days to memorise all the equations, and he did it as if _he_ were the teacher.'

'An impressive display of mnemonic prowess,' agreed Albus with a bit of a smile.

McGonagall almost snorted. 'It's a bit more than that. You should have seen it! The way he cast the spell, the way he directed his wand – it looked as if he'd tried vanishing objects for years and years.'

'And yet he failed. Maybe that is the extent of his talent?'

'What utter nonsense! I'm tempted to give him an E just for the formula he wrote on the board; it certainly exceeded _my_ expectations!'

'Even Muggles could comprehend the theory, my dear Minerva. But understanding the mysteries of magic, I fear, does not make a witch or wizard. At some point, one has to be able to produce results, wouldn't you agree?'

'But his talents are so skewed! Can anyone really be the next Merlin in Charms and only manage to average between A and E in Transfiguration?! This is silly, Albus!'

'Unusual, certainly. But need I remind you that Lily did have a hand for Charms?'

'But her other marks weren't so far behind! It's almost as if someone, something meddled with his talents.' She stopped her pacing, looking with concern at her old colleague. 'The Blacks wouldn't … they wouldn't have … would they?'

Albus considered this for a second before he shook his head. 'I can't say with a certainty that such a spell or ritual exists – but even if … Knowing Arcturus Black as I do, I'm positive he wouldn't risk mentally scarring a member of his family for some obscure magical benefit. The Blacks praise cunning, intelligence, education, and freedom of mind above all else – they would have been more than happy to accept young Harry even without his intriguing talent with Charms. I always thought how remarkable it was that a family promoting the research of any kind of magic values wit far above magical potential.'

'They have their goons and brutes for heavy lifting,' said Snape, speaking for the first time from his usual place near the window.

McGonagall frowned. 'You almost sound like you're admiring them, Albus.'

'You mistake respect for admiration.'

'Respect?' repeated McGonagall, appalled.

'Indeed. For over a thousand years, the Blacks have considered themselves above any law but their own. For a thousand years, they've done as they please. For a thousand years, they have outmanoeuvred, outwitted, outlasted all of their opposition. I feel no need to adhere to or respect their way of life, but I have to respect them for what they are.'

'And what is that?'

Again, it was Snape who answered. 'The epitome of egocentricity – an example to us all as to what happens when one thinks of nothing except in terms of "us" and "them".'

Albus inclined his head. 'Any news about Rose, Severus?'

'None. None of my contacts were able to find anything. There is nothing about relatives, relationships, activities, hobbies … I haven't found a single picture of her – anywhere. There's not a single recording of her on Muggle security tapes either. It's not even like her files at the Ministry or ICW were destroyed; I assume they never existed in the first place.'

'Does this include the source we discussed?'

Snape nodded. 'The only thing we have is, well, it's hardly a trail. But there is one student about her age who disappeared after graduating from Durmstrang.'

'Indeed,' said Albus, his brow furrowing. 'And that was Miss Rose?'

' … I couldn't say, Headmaster.'

'Excuse me?' asked McGonagall. 'How could you not?!'

'The person attending apparently looked nothing like her, performed religiously average, and was registered under a name that might or might not have been fake. The trail of that person vanishes from the face of the Earth as soon as she took one step out of Durmstrang, and she hasn't been seen ever since.'

'Relatives?' asked Albus without much hope.

'None.'

'And did that person attend Durmstrang for the full duration of her education?'

'No, she only transferred for her NEWT equivalent, passing just barely. Kept to herself, the very image of a loner.'

'Has Kingsley researched the Muggle photographs we have of the late Blacks, Minerva?'

'Yes, Albus. And he told me that he couldn't find any special likeness – not that he could search more than one or two generations back with that detestable law still in effect.'

'I expected as much,' Albus admitted with an apologetic nod, 'given how close the resemblance is between most recent Blacks, excluding young Harry. But that is hardly proof – I know for a fact that Arcturus Black looked nothing like what I have concluded to most likely be his late brother. Any other evidence of a relationship with the Blacks?'

'None,' said McGonagall grimly. 'The things that tie her to the Blacks are Lord Black's push for her to teach at Hogwarts and her apparent friendship with young Harry.'

Albus hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. 'Severus?'

'Yes, Headmaster?'

'Did anything happen at Durmstrang during the stay of your mysterious student? Accidents, confrontations, blackmail, students dropping out, political shifts – anything at all?'

Snape consulted a little folder in his hand, sorting through the pages. 'Nothing noteworthy. There were a few thefts from the library, but they happen often enough whenever a particularly talented student passes through their last years. The Durmstrang board puts up with it as a … rite of passage.'

'Did anyone achieve special commendations two years preceding or following our mysterious nobody's stay?'

Again there was the shuffling of papers. 'No, Headmaster. The best person to graduate within a two-year-window became a Polish Auror, swearing the traditional oath of office. They wouldn't have taken someone confessing to stealing school property.'

Albus allowed himself to smile. 'What books did vanish?'

Snape's brow creased. 'A rather motley assortment. Fairy tales, books about myths and legends. Nothing worth more than a few dozen Galleons except one rare first edition of British children's stories.'

McGonagall scoffed. 'Just another juvenile prank, I should think!'

Albus Dumbledore felt his gaze being drawn to the wand that lay on his desk. 'A possibility, certainly.'

 _Memory Lane_

'We're going to trounce Hufflepuff!' boasted Draco. 'They don't stand a chance!'

'I can't believe your father bought Firebolts for the entire team,' muttered Leo. 'Doesn't strike me as particularly fair. Some of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws ride old Cleansweeps!'

'What's Quidditch got to do with fairness?' asked Draco. 'They have more students, we have better brooms. Seems good to me!'

'You better deliver though,' said Amy with a smirk that plainly told Harry she was about to enjoy her favourite pastime – torturing Draco.

'… Why?' said Draco hesitantly.

'I heard some Gryffindors claiming that you bought your way onto the team. If you were to actually lose …'

Draco, who'd always had a pale complexion, paled even further.

Harry gave him a companionable slap on the back. 'Well, good luck! I'm sure Professor Snape will be most agreeable should you fail to win after drawing so much ire against the team!'

If possible, Draco looked even more pallid than before. 'We'll be fine,' he muttered, shaking his head absent-mindedly. 'We just have to win. No problem … just the stupid Hufflepuffs.'

'They haven't lost in five matches,' said Amy with a wink at Harry, who grinned back at her.

'I SAID WE'LL BE FINE!' snapped Draco.

For a few minutes, they ate in silence. Harry and Amy were both trying not to snigger or catch each other's eye. Eventually, Tracey and Daphne arrived.

'Hey!' said Daphne as she sat down. 'Heard the latest? Apparently, Malfoy's bribed Snape with brooms so he'll make Seeker.'

'It wasn't a bribe, okay?!' hissed Draco, trembling furiously.

'Oh, it wasn't?' asked Daphne, looking honestly taken aback. 'You might want to tell that to all the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs over there,' she said, nodding towards an area where two different house teams sat in huddled groups, muttering and occasionally pointing in Draco's direction.

Tracey, however, seemed to feel some pity for Draco's plight. 'Come on, guys. I heard he won tryouts fair and square. Even should they lose, there's no way Higgs would've done any better.'

Draco came back alive, regaining a bit of his swagger. 'Exactly! Trounced him, I did.'

'See, at least you trounced somebody already. Nobody can take that from you,' said Harry cheerfully.

'By the way,' said Amy, 'have you given your recent … correspondence any more thought?'

Harry could practically feel the rest of his friends drawing near. With a sigh, he said, 'No, well, I have, but it's such a mess. I'm perfectly okay dismissing Remus' letter, but I don't know what to think about the other two.'

'Is there any way to find out more about their backgrounds?' asked Draco, looking pleased with the shift in topic. 'I've been thinking, isn't it kind of strange that they all seemed to know that the others were going to write to you? And that they _all_ warned you not to trust the others? I mean Pettigrew explicitly asked you not to involve Dumbledore and the DMLE, heavily implying that included your cowardly werewolf uncle as well.'

'Not necessarily,' disagreed Harry. 'He didn't actually name any third party.'

'Maybe he's trying to account for things he doesn't know by staying vague?' suggested Tracey. 'You see that a lot with people who want to appear important.'

'Anyway,' continued Draco, sending mild glares at Tracey and Harry for interrupting what Harry assumed to be a well-rehearsed display of equal parts insight and narcissism, 'Sirius asked you, ostensibly, to stay away from the DMLE but suggested to get in contact with an old buddy who just so happens to be an Auror – or at the very least some regular law enforcement guy.'

'Shout his name a bit louder, won't you?' hissed Harry.

'If he's an old co-worker of James Potter, he should be an Auror though, right?' said Amy. 'I mean, Aurors won't mingle with the regular, old DMLE crowd unless it's some kind of Ministry event, don't you think?'

'Definitely,' said Tracey. 'Mum always goes on and on about it. She suspects they're using a Supersensory Charm to flounce with their noses stuck up high just so they won't trip over their own feet.'

Draco coughed importantly, lowering his voice. 'As I just said,' he continued, glaring once more at Tracey, who grinned unabashedly, 'your … _uncle_ … also asked you not to involve your family. And then we have Lupin, who – if your memory indeed serves you right because you idiotically insisted on burning the letter to vent your resentment – just asked you to be careful, which could also be understood to mean that Lupin suspects some foul play.'

'Correct,' said Harry, willing to let Draco's dig pass – mostly because he didn't want to admit that he had a point.

'Your … uncle should, all things considered, be the least informed, having just escaped prison. I think it's curious that even _he_ specifically warns you to stay away from the DMLE.'

'Really, Malfoy? He just escaped! Doesn't take a genius to figure out that he wouldn't be all too happy with the Ministry,' said Daphne with a snort.

'I still think it's curious that even Lupin didn't suggest that you go to Bones,' said Draco sourly.

'Is it though?' asked Leo. 'I mean, after everything that happened with Harry and the Ministry?'

'Fine!' snapped Draco. 'Thanks for all of that. I was just trying to help, you know?!'

'It's quite hilarious really,' said Amy, smirking at Draco's grumpy expression. 'They all seem to distrust one another. Weren't they best of friends once?'

'I suppose. I don't really know all that much about it, to be honest. I know they used to be really close in school but after that … Anyway, you lot would've given me the same advice, don't you think? Staying away from Bones seems like a good move no matter the situation. I also severely doubt that she's inclined to have a little chat with me or Grandfather about one of her subordinates, so there's no point in me inquiring. All I could find out about Pettigrew is that he's kind of a crook: theft, embezzlement, impersonation – malicious lingering.'

'Malicious lingering?' repeated Tracey with a snort. 'Is that Auror speech for "You lookin' at me, pal?"'

'How much does he ask for?' asked Leo. 'You've written to his contact, haven't you?'

'Two thousand for a meeting with his solicitor. Seventy-five all in all – half up front.'

Tracey whistled appreciatively.

'Merlin! This sounds like such a scam!' breathed Daphne, her voice hushed in the presence of a very … _respectable_ sum of money.

'I'm not so sure,' said Amy with a shrug. 'Sure, it sounds asinine if you say it like that, but would you piss off Harry's family for just seventy-five thousand? I sure wouldn't.'

'If you put it like that,' admitted Daphne reluctantly.

'But are you sure Pettigrew has the brains to figure that one out?' asked Tracey.

'We'll see, won't we?' said Harry. 'I've agreed to a meeting with his solicitor for now. It's going to be this Hogsmeade weekend. I'll listen to him first, and then – maybe – arrange a quiet meeting with that Lazarus-fellow. We'll see. First the solicitor though.'

'Neat,' said Draco. 'We can eavesdrop.'

'I could just take you with me. You know, officially?' replied Harry with some amount of exasperation.

'Eavesdropping is much more fun,' commented Amy, grinning.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I still think I shouldn't have this talk alone.' After a second of thought, he added, 'Daphne, want to come?'

She beamed at him. 'Sure! But, honestly, Tracey should come as well.'

'What! Me?!'

'Yes, you! You're a glib talker, and you don't lose your head as fast as me,' said Daphne.

'Hard to argue with that,' said Draco with a condescending smirk.

Daphne ignored him.

'Alright, that's it then. Harry, Tracey, and Daphne have their little meeting with the solicitor, and Amy, Draco, and I listen in,' said Leo, looking excited.

'What about Hermione?' asked Tracey.

'What about her?' countered Amy, frowning. 'She's got her Mudblood lessons, doesn't she? Oh, come to think of it, I think I'll be snooping around those instead.'

'Why do you all insist on snooping and spying,' said Harry, trying for reason once more. 'Couldn't you just ask her?!'

'But she's been kind of close-mouthed about it,' said Amy. 'I mean, I don't care at all about her, but aren't you curious who's teaching her? Could be quite a scandal, depending on their political allegiance.'

'Besides, all this spy-business is kind of neat, isn't it?' asked Daphne, grinning at Harry.

Tracey nodded. 'It's like we're a group of kick-ass ninjas! Fighting for power, battling mysterious teachers and greedy lawyers!'

Harry groaned. 'Not again!'

'What?! You know what a ninja is?!' asked Tracey, looking gobsmacked.

Harry waved his hand dismissively, ignoring Daphne, who was trembling with suppressed laughter. 'Let's not go there.'

But his friends were nothing if not hung up on little details. In the end, Daphne, to Harry's surprise, smoothed it over by explaining how she'd dragged Harry into a movie this summer, to the great amusement of Tracey, who kept teasing him with how she imagined Harry among all the Muggles, still wearing ridiculously colourful robes, fumbling for his wand at the sound of every explosion.

Daphne, too, didn't look too pleased, and she kept trying to portray their day in a grander way than he remembered; he couldn't, for example, for the life of him remember having to fight off Muggle muggers. Nevertheless, he was grateful that Daphne gave no hint that their outing into Muggle London might have been more than a jaunt with a friend.

When Draco and Tracey started another racket, Daphne gave him a warm smile, a smile Harry found himself returning almost automatically.

But his final rescue from bothersome topics came in the form of an owl. It was one of his family's, he noticed. It swooped across the hall, barking angrily at a few other, lesser owls that failed to make way in time before making an elegant landing on the candlestick holder, the gust of its approach extinguishing the flames.

The big brown owl had always been a bit showy, but how could Harry not reward her with a few slices of bacon for such a spectacular landing?

'Here you go,' he said softly, offering his courier something to drink as well. 'And thank you.'

The owl hooted in a dignified sort of way before it took off again, almost knocking a small, white owl out of the air.

'Isn't she wonderful?' said Harry fondly.

'Kind of vicious if you ask me,' mumbled Tracey.

'She knows her worth.' Harry unrolled the small bundle he'd been delivered. 'Oh, it's tomorrow's Prophet.'

'Neat,' said Draco, not sounding very interested.

'Anything important?' asked Leo.

'Hm, let's see. Strengthened voting block of conservatives spearheaded by Selwyn pressures Wizengamot, French Minister for Magic resigns, Karkaroff's fired another deputy – oh – and Tonks has been found in some room deep underneath the Ministry.'

Tracey's eyes bulged. 'WHAT?!'

'Er, are you sure, Harry?' asked Daphne cautiously.

'What? Oh, yeah. Says here "… found bound, gagged, and in a magical coma. Head Auror Longbottom personally confirmed to have questioned Junior Auror Tonks, who had been on leave for a special assignment with the ICW. Whether or not Auror Tonks' loss of memory is due to the volatile environment she was found in or the result of more sinister events remains to be seen."' Harry folded the newspaper, shrugging nonchalantly. 'Well, there you have it.'

Tracey looked at him as if he'd confessed to a passionate tryst with Dumbledore.

Daphne, too, was staring at him with a peculiar expression. 'Er, is everything alright, Harry?' she asked in a tone of compassion he found strange.

'Of course! Why wouldn't it be?'

'I mean … I mean you're okay with that?'

'With what?' he asked, feeling more and more confused.

'Tonks?' Tracey supplemented, looking more alarmed by the second.

'What? Oh, yeah, of course. I dare say she got quite lucky, but it seems it all worked out.'

'Lucky,' repeated Daphne weakly.

Harry nodded. 'But it's not like it bothers me much either way.'

'It doesn't?!' asked Draco, looking puzzled.

The siblings exchanged a short glance Harry failed to place.

'Why would it?' Harry continued. 'Stop acting so strange!'

'We're acting strange?' asked Tracey, goggling at him.

'Yeah!'

'Harry, I …' Daphne lowered her voice, nodding at Tracey who wiggled her wand twice before an invisible bubble engulfed them all. 'I know you're just pretending, but please cut it out. It's scary!'

'Pretending … what?'

'About Tonks?!' said Daphne, deliberately stressing the name. 'You know, heart-shaped face, likes strange colours for her hair, knows some queer jinxes. Nymphadora 'Don't call me that' Tonks – the woman you refused to even obliviate a few months back?!'

'Well, yes, that was a bit silly on my part, wasn't it? But why would I be much concerned?' he returned, starting to feel irritated with their strange reaction. 'Good for her to be found, I guess, but I just don't see how it's any of my business.'

Even Leo was staring now. Amy was watching him like someone hesitating to choose between brilliant and bonkers. Daphne and Tracey looked horrified. All the gaping made Harry wonder why they made such a big deal about some distant relative of his.


	54. ML: Obliviate!

**Obliviate!**

* * *

He was changing the bed sheets, humming under his breath. He liked working at night. Dusting the curtains, cleaning the windows, polishing the marvellous trunks the children brought with them – it was all so very worthwhile. He made sure to stay away from that dark-haired master's trunk, though, oh yes! He could taste it in the air, smell it, see it in the wood: death and decay. He would not touch the trunk and be made fun of – oh, no! He would be good!

With a nod, he clicked his fingers, sweeping the floor underneath the beds. He felt a measure of pride as he let his gaze wander around the dormitory. All nice and clean – just how he liked it! He would have to check the fire again in an hour, but for now, cooking: pastries, a few dozen loaves of toast … Maybe he ought to mix up the recipes again? A few of the older young mistresses seemed to favour rye over wheat. But the young ones certainly didn't. Oh – he had just the idea. He would simply make both, and everyone would be happy.

 _Memory Lane_

Harry awoke, a faint popping sound that seemed to belong to his dream ringing in his ears. He looked through heavy eyes at his watch: three o'clock. With a sigh, he let himself fall back on his pillow again, wondering why in Merlin's name he felt like baking rye bread. While Harry was perfectly capable of magically cleaning a kitchen, life hadn't required him to learn how to cook an egg – much less anything more complicated than that. With a shrug, he closed his eyes, relaxing. Bread could wait until breakfast.

Much later, strange dreams long forgotten, an annoyingly chipper Draco was dragging him towards the Great Hall.

'Can't I just skip breakfast?' Harry grumbled. 'I could sleep another hour if you just let me …'

'What are you talking about, mate? Breakfast is the meal of champions! Besides, you might want to get some energy for your meeting with the solicitor. Speaking from experience, lawyers can't even say "hello" in less than three sentences and without a hundred Galleons enticement.'

'I'm sure Daphne and Tracey can handle it …'

Draco gave him a patronising look. 'Really, Harry. Tracey, well, okay. But Greengrass? Granted – her big tits might dist–'

'If you finish that sentence, it's going to be just me arriving at breakfast,' growled Harry.

Draco cleared his throat. But, as it turned out, walking a few minutes in silence seemed to be his limit. 'Did something happen between you and Greengrass this summer?'

'What makes you say that?'

'Well, I don't know. Nothing specific. I never could figure her out, you know, not entirely. I mean, sure, it looked like she was just teasing you constantly, but sometimes she seemed genuinely desperate for your attention.'

Harry didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.

'But, you know,' continued Draco breezily, 'Greengrass doesn't appear to be quite as, well, frantic this year. At least so far. Might be my imagination, course, just saying. So either she gave up on you, or she _knows_ she's got a shot.'

'I'm not sure I want to talk about this with someone who keeps wiggling his eyebrows whenever Parkinson's around.'

Draco smirked. 'Come on, Pansy's got a great body. And she's from a decent family to boot. I hear her father's clawing for a good match.'

'Urgh, are you serious? Or do you simply want to reap the benefits of some little … misunderstanding?'

Draco laughed, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 'Please, Harry! I'm a gentleman.'

There was no way Harry could stand arguing with Draco right now. But then again, maybe Draco had a vulnerable spot to attack as well. 'What does your girlfriend have to say about Parkinson?'

Draco looked blankly at him.

'I meant Hermione, of course,' said Harry, his smile widening even as Draco groaned. 'Colour me impressed! Who would have thought that the son of Lucius Malfoy would have the nerve to take a Muggle-born on a date to Muggle London! Why, that was almost … Gryffindor-ish!'

'It wasn't a date!' hissed Draco. 'I had some business to discuss with her about her teacher – Tracey be damned! She told you, didn't she?! It _wasn't_ a date, okay? You can stop smirking now!'

'Alright, Draco. It wasn't a date.'

'Thank y–'

'I'm sure your father will understand,' added Harry innocently.

Draco blanched. 'Y– You wouldn't!'

Harry smiled meaningfully at Draco as they entered the Great Hall.

'Harry? You wouldn't … would you? Tell me you wouldn't! Hey, I was only joking earlier. Come on!'

But Harry didn't turn around again, taking a seat next to Daphne, nodding at everyone. 'Morning.'

'Hey! Feeling better today?' asked Daphne hesitantly.

'Never felt better,' he said brightly, reaching over the table and giving in to the persistent, strangely specific urge for French toast.

Daphne bit her lip in an obvious effort not to blurt something out. She hadn't done that in years. It was quite amusing that the old habit resurfaced now that Hermione had finally dropped it. Speaking of the Muggle-born …

'Good morning,' called Hermione, inclining her head politely. 'I'm glad we agreed to skip the workout on weekends. Are you all going to Hogsmeade as well?'

'Oh, you bet,' said Amy with a smirk.

'Sure thing!' gushed Tracey. 'We have to spy on Harry's s–'

Daphne's hand prevented anything worse, but Hermione merely shrugged. 'Something you can't tell me?'

'I suppose,' said Harry. 'It's nothing personal. Besides, you do have your lesson, don't you?'

'I do,' she said happily. 'And I think I'm better off not learning too much anyway – at least for now. My teacher told me that it isn't uncommon for pure-bloods to obliviate contacts, colleagues, or even friends that aren't skilled in Occlumency. I'd rather not have my brain addled, thank you very much.'

Most unfortunately, Harry had just taken a small bite of French toast. He tried to pass his little mishap off, and it might have worked, too – if Tracey hadn't been keeping an annoyingly close eye on him ever since that wretched Tonks article last night, that is.

Her eyes flashed angrily. 'Honey?' Tracey asked, her look of rage displaced by one of embarrassment within a moment. 'I've been meaning to ask – do you think you could lend me your copy of Hogwarts: A History? My mum sort of told me to give it a shot, and I–'

Daphne was about to say something but stopped short with a muffled 'Ow!', and Harry had the impression that – for once – she had been on the receiving end of an elbow.

'I've got a copy,' offered Leo.

Tracey waved him off. 'You always scribble into your books!'

Hermione nodded happily. 'Want me to fetch it right now? You can make a start on the first few chapters!'

Tracey looked as if a dream had come true. 'Thanks!'

'Be right back!'

Tracey waved happily after the Muggle-born until she was out of sight. As soon as Hermione vanished around the corner, her warm smile turned glacial. 'Harry James Black,' she spat. 'I saw that look. I _know_ that look! Tell me you didn't!'

'What are you on about?' asked Draco, bewildered.

'Shut it for a second, Draco. This is important! Harry, look me in the eye and tell me you didn't obliviate Hermione!'

Harry regarded her with a passive expression. 'Why would I feel the need to obliviate her? Besides, I'm still nowhere good enough.'

Tracey glowered at him, every feature of her face screaming doubt. 'Daphne, you ask him!'

'W– What? Why me?!'

'Harry prefers not to lie, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's telling the truth either. But I know for a fact that he positively _loathes_ telling you half-truths. Go on, ask him!'

'I don't think I should –' began Daphne, but Tracey cut her off.

'Isn't Hermione your friend, too? Are you okay with Harry killing her memory whenever he feels like it?'

Daphne chewed on her lip again, agonising. Then, with an apologetic look at Harry, she murmured, 'Did you obliviate Hermione?'

All eyes were on him. He could say whatever he wished. No bolt of lightning would pierce the roof of the Great Hall, the jaws of hell wouldn't open just to swallow him. He doubted that Daphne or Tracey would be able to tell if he really tried. But then he looked into Daphne's eyes again, saw her past self standing in front of him, tearing at him, screaming at him, so desperate and fragile – just like him. Or at the grave, when she refused to leave until Harry promised he wouldn't go anyway. With an uneasy feeling, he also remembered his recent talk with Ophala.

'Not exactly. But I had someone else obliviate her.'

Tracey swore so loudly that a few Ravenclaws turned around.

'Why?' asked Amy.

Harry sighed. 'I couldn't risk anyone learning about the contents of the contract I made with Fawley. Hermione knows no Occlumency at all – how could I just let her walk away with that kind of knowledge? I only made her forget a minute or two.'

'Did you ever think about _teaching_ her Occlumency, you arrogant bastard?!' snapped Tracey.

'Tracey!' cried Daphne in shock.

'It would take months and months,' replied Harry, quite reasonable, he thought. 'I'm sympathetic, but you cannot expect me to hold her hand throughout her stay at Hogwarts.'

'Oh, I see! Why would a Black lower himself to instruct someone as plebeian as a Muggle-born?! Not the right blood, see?'

'I'm a half-blood, Tracey,' said Harry calmly.

'That's what you say,' she returned with a nasty scowl. 'But that's not the way you act. She's not family, so she's baggage?! You need to have your head examined! You keep her around to prove that you're better than the bigots, but actually helping – Merlin save me, I'm a Black, how could I be expected to help any Tom, Dick, or Harry?! What a fine friend you are!'

'You're out of line, Tracey,' said Amy coolly. 'Go teach the Mudblood Occlumency for all I care, but don't bother us with your bawling.'

Tracey's eyes were mere slits at this point. With one last killing glance at both Amy and Harry, she turned around. 'You know what? That's exactly what I'm going to do. Will you at least agree not do butcher her memories until then?'

How could he make such a promise?! 'If nothing comes up,' he said.

'I'd really love to smack you one right now – if only …' muttered Tracey, hesitating for just a second before she stormed off.

They all watched her leave. After a few seconds, Draco harrumphed loudly. 'I guess that means she's not coming with us to Hogsmeade?'

Harry grimaced. 'I rather doubt it.'

'I … I think I'd better check on her,' said Daphne in a small voice.

'No.' To Harry's surprise, Leo got to his feet. 'Don't misunderstand, I'm not judging you, Harry. We do what we must. But I still think I'd better help Tracey. She doesn't have the attitude for teaching, and I'd prefer it if she didn't mentally maim a housemate.'

'Hey, how about this!' said Draco, his expression lighting up. 'If we can teach a Mud– Muggle-born Occlumency by the end of the year, you have to come clean _and_ admit that you were wrong!'

'Are you serious, Draco?'

Draco grinned. 'Afraid to lose?'

Once more, Harry shrugged, returning Leo's nod as the two boys made to follow Tracey. Moodily, he played with his food.

Amy stabbed a sausage, inspecting it critically. 'You did nothing wrong, Harry. I don't know what got into them. You've shown more patience with the Mudblood than I ever could.'

Daphne didn't say anything, staring at her own plate, her eyes shielded behind her curtain of hair. And even though Harry still thought Amy had the right of it, his appetite had vanished along with the jaunty atmosphere.

 _Memory Lane_

Leo, Draco, and Tracey, the last of whom kept ignoring him pointedly, had informed them that they'd be preparing lessons, while Amy had proceeded to follow Hermione, leaving Harry and Daphne to walk the streets of Hogsmeade in silence and twofold loneliness.

Daphne hadn't said anything since his confrontation with Tracey, and Harry was at a loss for words. For half an hour, they wandered on – silent and awkward. Their uncomfortable stroll eventually brought them to the outskirts of the village, where they leaned on a wooden fence, casting empty glances over the foothills, the meadows, and the rest of Scotland's glorious landscape.

Harry gazed at it as if he'd never seen it before, as if he wasn't cheesed-off. He'd noticed that Daphne, for once, kept her distance. It surprised him that he even noticed.

'Say …' said Daphne eventually, refusing to meet his eyes.

'Hmm?'

'How would you feel if something were to happen to me?'

Harry frowned. 'What kind of morbid question is that?'

She looked up, her expression dead serious. 'Just answer me, please!'

He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt unnaturally parched. 'I … I think I'd do something really, really messed up.'

She gave a pained little smile. 'I don't think you would. I still remember how you'd cower behind me whenever some other girl would come to visit. Are you sure you wouldn't simply hide again?'

'No,' he disagreed. 'No, I wouldn't hide. That's not me anymore. Besides, even back then I didn't hide when … during that night. Some things are worth standing up for.'

Daphne gave a little sob, jumping to embrace him, pressing him against her.

'Though I admit,' whispered Harry, gently stroking her back, 'the world seemed a bit easier this summer. Maybe I wouldn't mind that kind of hiding away.'

He felt her nod into the nape of his neck and – to his embarrassment – tighten their embrace even further. Two middle-aged villagers on their way back home stared at them, but Harry didn't care, and the woman eventually dragged her well-built husband away. They continued to stand rooted to the spot, he stroking her back, she clutching him as if afraid to ever let go again.

'Every once in a while, I really worry about you, Harry,' Daphne mumbled in a mellow voice that was only for him to hear.

'… Why?'

'You can be so cold … so _cold_.'

She shivered, relaxing her grip, and reached up with her hands to cup his face. Before Harry knew what was happening, she pecked him on the lips before letting go. 'Come on! We're going to be late for your meeting.'

'I … er … right. The meeting. Yeah, ahem, okay.'

 _Memory Lane_

What had been a tendency for centuries had, unwittingly, been turned into all but a rule these last few centuries. It was the kind of irony Harry enjoyed: the Pillars' attempt to break down the walls of distrust between the Muggle-borns and pure-bloods had only resulted in the radicalisation of formerly moderate conservatives. As such, it wasn't a particular surprise for Harry that he knew the mysterious Slytherin solicitor – at least by name. There were only so many pure-bloods left in Britain, and they tended to keep to themselves.

'Good day, Mr Black. And I see you've brought a lovely young lady – Miss Greengrass if I'm not mistaken? Charming. My name is Thorfinn Rowle. I believe we have something to discuss about a shared acquainted of ours. Oh, but please do excuse my terrible manners. I've had a dreadful day at the office.'

He smoothly kissed the back of Daphne's hand before offering Harry an overly polite bow that immediately aroused Harry's suspicion. He wouldn't be surprised if the man before him was simply a more refined gangster than those he usually defended. Small wonder, then, that he got along with Pettigrew.

'I've taken the liberty of renting a private parlour. I suggest we retire there before discussing any business we may have – at your convenience, of course. I hope you find yourself agreeable?'

'Lead the way.'

Daphne simply shrugged, following Harry's lead. She hadn't even spared the man a second look, though Harry did notice her wiping the back of her hand.

'I hope Hogwarts is treating you well?' asked the blond man in his strangely high voice that clashed with his impressive build. The man looked strange in his expensive, classy robes – out of place. Harry couldn't help imagining the man wearing cheap, sleazy cotton, wielding a broken bottle in one hand and mug of ale in the other.

'Fairly well, yes.'

Harry hated small talk. To be sure, he was perfectly capable of switching off his brain to get it over with, but maybe there were … options. 'I'm relieved to find that our contact is from such a reputable family, Mr Rowle.'

'You are most gracious,' said the man, politely inclining his head.

'I know all about your family, of course. Such noble history!'

Daphne gave him a questioning look. He winked at her.

'Too kind, you are too kind, Mr Black. You do me great honour.'

'Honour well earned. Well earned, indeed. For example, I recently learned that it was, in fact, one of your ancestors whom we have to thank for all the Dementors tormenting our family members.'

'Really?' asked Daphne surprised.

Mr Rowle didn't respond, but Harry gladly helped him out. 'Indeed. Damocles Rowle insisted on using the old fortress of a mad Dark Lord swarming with undying fiends instead of building a new, costlier prison. Almost ironic, isn't it, that Minister Rowle probably did all that to keep the Muggles and Muggle-born in check, but now it's mostly our own who rot away there.'

Mr Rowle's friendly smile didn't waver, though it did look a tiny bit strained now. 'Indeed,' he mumbled. 'Ironic.'

'I do hope I haven't brought up anything unpleasant?' asked Harry politely.

'Not at all. Not at all. Ancient history, I dare say. Ancient history.'

In silence, they walked towards the back rooms. Harry didn't bother to hide his smirk.

 _If your conversation partner is in a position of strength, kindly undermine his confidence._

His grandfather's lessons on demagoguery had always been entertaining.

The private parlour was barely more than a few chairs, a couch, and a massive table. It was cosy enough, but the cheerful, warm orange drapes and fluffy fabrics couldn't have been a bigger contrast to both the Slytherin common room or Harry's family's style. Snacks, tea, coffee, and several kinds of juice were set on the table, but Harry ignored them.

Without another glance at the solicitor, Harry sat on the couch, assuming a relaxed, if attentive, posture. Daphne automatically claimed the spot to his left, leaving Mr Rowle one of the distinctly more uncomfortable-looking seats.

The man didn't appear to notice. He sat down and extracted his wand, which he laid on the table and out of immediate reach, followed shortly by a neat folder bound in smooth, shiny leather.

'First, Mr Black, as unsightly as it is, I would like to discuss the issue of monetary compensation. My client specifically instructed me t–'

Harry held up one hand to silence the man before clicking his fingers. Cranky appeared, already bowing in his direction. 'Master Harry called?'

'Hand over the money to the nice Mr Rowle over there, please, Cranky.'

'Yes, Master.'

Cranky produced a small sack of Galleons and, after a nod from Harry, reluctantly handed it to the mildly astonished-looking Mr Rowle.

'Thank you, Cranky. You may go.'

'I live to serve.' With another dull crack, the little creature was gone.

The solicitor coughed, glancing into the sack to verify that it was indeed filled with two thousand Galleons. 'If I may?' he asked politely, nodding in the direction of his wand.

Harry shrugged, leaning back and putting his left arm very comfortably on the backrest of the couch. He coolly watched the man cast his charms. He looked quite proficient, at least with those kinds of spells, but Harry wouldn't be surprised if the man turned out to be a decent duellist as well.

'Well,' said Mr Rowle eventually with a little smile as he pocketed the sack into a much smaller, enchanted belt pouch, 'that went much better than I had dared to hope. Could I perhaps tempt you with one of Madame Rosmerta's pastries? They really are sinfully delicious. I admit I did arrange this meeting here at least partially because they are a guilty pleasure of mine.'

'I'm afraid not. It's nothing personal, but I don't share food with people I don't know or trust. But by all means – help yourself.'

Daphne, who was about to reach for her second biscuit, froze. With an almost inaudible whine, she pulled back her hand.

'Now then, Mr Rowle, I suggest you start your pitch.'

'Ah, straight to business it is.' The man produced a little sheet of parchment from his folder, handing it to Harry who gave it a cursory glance. 'This is a signed, witnessed statement of intent that I represent Mr Peter Pettigrew's interests in this matter. While it is not up to me to consent or reject any proposals made on your behalf, I can assure you that I have my client's –'

'Then why should we waste our time talking to you?' asked Daphne.

The solicitor smiled pleasantly at her. 'While my authority is limited, I can only assume that Mr Black here,' he nodded in Harry's direction, and Harry understood the gesture to mean 'This really isn't any of your business, Missy', 'wants to make a qualified decision. As such, we – that is to say Mr Pettigrew and I – feel that my presence is more than sufficient to –'

'And you've got no stakes here whatsoever?' said Daphne, rudely interrupting the man once more.

The man's eyebrow definitely gave a twitch of annoyance, and Harry couldn't help but congratulate himself for bringing Daphne along. 'Since I'm representing Mr Pettigrew, and my recompense is strictly based on the amount in dispute, it is – naturally – in my very own interest to see this deal through.'

'Let me get this straight. You get paid depending on the amount Pettigrew extorts from Harry? Meaning you might stand in the way of Pettigrew and Harry coming to an amicable agreement? As I understand it, Pettigrew and Harry's parents were quite close. It's not unthinkable that they might solve this without money. But you – self-confessed – want this "deal" of yours to involve as much money as possible. I don't think we should be talking to you at all; you're not interested in Pettigrew and Harry coming to an agreement, you're interested in making it as expensive as possible!'

 _Nice!_ thought Harry, watching the solicitor with polite interest and hidden glee. It was getting hard not to smile.

'I'll have you know, Miss Greengrass,' said the man, dropping his friendly smile, 'that this is a matter of the utmost privacy between Mr Pettigrew and Mr Black, and I really don't think –'

'Oh, Daphne here has my full confidence. You may treat any word of hers as my own,' said Harry.

The man's face fell, but he recovered fast. 'I meant no disrespect,' he said, bowing politely in Daphne's direction. 'I was merely intending to suggest how very delicate these matters can be. I'm sure Mr Black here is very glad to have a softer, female perspective on his business dealings.'

Harry snorted. He really couldn't help himself this time. If Rowle had wanted to piss Daphne off, he'd certainly achieved just that.

'Yes,' drawled Daphne. 'I'm known for my subtle, softer wiles.' Daphne produced her wand. But unlike Mr Rowle, she put it right in front of her, its tip pointing at the solicitor.

The man frowned, looking disapprovingly at Harry for help. Harry, meanwhile, was busy inspecting the chinaware, refusing to catch the man's eye.

'I think you better start talking fast,' snarled Daphne. 'Otherwise, I'll decide that this really isn't worth our time. If Pettigrew wants money, he should've had the grit to ask Harry himself instead of sending some busybody clerk.'

The man glared angrily at Daphne. 'Mr Pettigrew is in possession of both first-hand knowledge and genuine documents about a person or persons of Mr Black's environment. These documents are irrefutable proof that they have greatly wronged Mr Black. We're prepared to disclose all knowledge pertaining to these events as well as hand over all documents concerned in exchange for the aforementioned sum. Both parties will sign a clause that will penalise any party breaking the confidence of said agreement. That will conclude all business.'

'Official documents?' asked Daphne.

The solicitor nodded, still eyeing Daphne suspiciously. Daphne, meanwhile, was leaning back into the arm Harry had slung over the backrest, smirking.

'And how did Pettigrew take hold of such important paperwork? Considering his … background, we have to assume that it won't be admissible to court. That would make this "proof" of yours about as useful as … as something not very useful at all!'

 _She needs to work on her eloquence, but someone give this girl a prize already!_

'As long as there's proof –'

'Mr Rowle,' said Harry softly, deciding that it was finally time to intervene. 'This has been very droll, but I cannot help but wonder why I should pay you anything more than what you've received already. There is no proof that such "evidence" exists, and we aren't even talking to the person claiming to possess it. You have sparked my curiosity, but that is not enough – not nearly good enough – for me to shower you in more gold than most people see in their entire life. If you really wish something to come of this deal, there needs to be a meeting with Mr Pettigrew in person.'

'I'm afraid that's impossible,' said the man stiffly.

'Then _I'm_ afraid we're at an impasse,' replied Harry with a pleasant smile. 'Come, Daphne. We're leaving.' He held out his hand, and Daphne appeared at his side as if he'd used a Summoning Charm, lavishing smug smiles on the man.

'Wait!' called Rowle as Harry was about to open the door. 'I can't decide this. Can't we discuss this like gentlemen? I'm sure there's no need for dramatics.'

Daphne and Harry exchanged a glance, and Harry grinned at her, nodding. She'd earned the last punch.

'Mr … Raúl, was it?' asked Daphne haughtily. 'I'm afraid there's nothing left to discuss. We shall be expecting your owl. Have a pleasant day.'

 _Memory Lane_

Harry and Daphne were both laughing by the time they were out of sight and earshot, hidden away in the first forlorn alley they had come across.

'That was great!' cheered Harry. 'Brilliant! How did you know?!'

Daphne beamed at him. 'I knew what you were up to as soon as you brought up that Azkaban story. Please, Harry, I _know_ you! And I thought, well, if you wanted to piss him off, I could probably do just as fine a job. I've had loads of practice with Gran, after all! But aren't you worried he's going to call the deal off?'

'Not in the least! Pettigrew got the first bit of money, which proves that I'm at least vaguely interested. He won't let the deal of a lifetime slip through his fingers just because someone twited his stooge.'

'He really was one slimy git, wasn't he?' said Daphne. 'Did you see the size of his hands?! Far from wondering why someone like that is a solicitor, I'm rather surprised he can hold a quill without crushing it! He looks just like the thugs you see lounging about Knockturn Alley.'

Curious, Harry raised an eyebrow, looking her over with mild surprise. 'Knockturn Alley? And what, pray tell, would lead a young lady astray to such dingy parts of town?'

She grinned sheepishly at him. 'I needed some Manticore poison for a potion.'

'Manticore poison?! Ye gods! Be careful with the stuff, won't you?'

'I only needed two drops, and I was really cautious,' said Daphne hastily. After a second, she eyed him suspiciously. 'Are you honestly telling me you've never been down there?'

'Er, no.'

'What?! Are you _not_ telling me or haven't you been?!'

Harry laughed. 'Come on. We've still got some time left.'

'So you _have_ been down there!'

'Occasionally. But always for good reasons!'

'Like what?'

'Like, um, curiosity?' said Harry with a cheeky grin.

Daphne rolled her eyes. 'Since I've been of service to the scion of House Black today, I dare say I've earned some kind of a reward, wouldn't you say?'

'I suppose?'

'Great!' she blurted out excitedly, clutching his hand. 'I need one or two new sets of robes, and Gladrags is still open! You won't be missing a few dozen Galleons more after wasting two thousand on that crook, right?'

Harry groaned, but he allowed Daphne to drag him away regardless.

 _Memory Lane_

Buying 'one or two new sets of robes' took the better part of the afternoon, not least of all because Daphne insisted on making a show of it, parading each outfit in front of Harry, twirling happily, and asking for his opinion.

When the amused shop assistant finally told them that they had better hurry back, Daphne – to Harry's disbelief – made a snap decision and settled on about as many robes and dresses as she seemed to think Harry could realistically carry.

More out of habit than anything else, Harry twirled his wand, waiting for the woman to finish packing. His chin resting on his palm, he ran through the same array of spells he usually used whenever he was out alone (or as alone as Arcturus and, by extension, Aenor seemed to allow).

He wasn't particularly surprised to find two fat ravens sitting on a perch outside the shop. It was driving him mad that he had no way of telling if happenstance or something more elaborate had caused them to end up there.

The rest of Hogsmeade seemed near deserted by now. They were indeed cutting it quite close. All the more surprising was that his lazily cast spell indicated some person lurking in an alley not far from Gladrags.

'Hey, enough woolgathering! Mind lending me a hand?' asked Daphne, barely visible under a heap of bags.

'What? Oh, yeah, of course.'

He spun his wand, jabbing it at Daphne's haul. A few seconds later, he comfortably pocketed the bags in his robes.

Daphne appeared conflicted about this. 'Hmm,' she said. 'Maybe I should get that night blue top, too? Space doesn't seem to be an issue.'

'You've already got so many new outfits that you can pick a different one each day for the next couple of weeks! We can come back here some other time.'

Too late, Harry started regretting his choice of words.

'Oh?' said Daphne, grinning. 'It's a … an appointment, then!'

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his head. 'Come on. It's getting late.'

It was also getting chilly. Harry drew his coat tightly around himself, his gaze travelling over the closing shops and hastily leaving students. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention as far as he could tell.

'Come on,' he muttered, grabbing Daphne by the elbow.

'Are you dragging me into yet another dark alley, Harry?' said Daphne with a laugh. 'Are you up to something?'

'Yes, but it's nothing frivolous,' he whispered. 'Wands out!'

Daphne jumped, fumbling for her wand, looking around apprehensively. 'Something wrong?'

Harry shrugged. 'Maybe. I can't cast Revelio another time; they'll know.' After a thoughtful pause, he said, 'Do you have your makeup case with you?'

'What?! Yeah, I do. So what?' she said somewhat defensively.

'Lend me your mirror, please.'

Daphne rummaged in her pockets. He'd heard rumours about the things women had in their clutches, obviously, but Daphne seemed to take it one step further. An apothecary or two, a second pair of shoes, pictures, hankies, snacks, medicine, a few magazines, a shirt he could have sworn was his …

'I know it's in there somewhere …'

Harry tried not to stare as Daphne, frowning, produced a dark silk bra.

'I've been wondering where I left that. Oh! Got it!'

Grateful, Harry took the little hand mirror, sidling up the alley his spell had resonated with. Near the last corner, Harry looked up with a measuring expression. There was just enough light left. Slowly, he held the mirror around the corner.

There was his suspicious person – and yet it couldn't be clearer that they were no danger at all.

He stood up, handing Daphne her mirror.

'What is it?' she said in a hushed tone.

'You'll see.'

Holding his wand firmly in his hand, he stepped into the alley. Their would-be stalker, a Hogwarts student going by the robes, was lying face down in the mud.

'Oh!' said Daphne behind him. 'What happened?!'

'I don't know. Let's have a bit more light.'

With a flick of his wand, a warm, orange glow spread along the dirty street, revealing dirt, mild decay, and familiar fine curls …

'Merlin, it's Amy!' shouted Daphne, rushing forward.

And so it was. Harry and Daphne carefully rolled her on her back. Harry noticed that, despite the nippy weather, that she seemed to be quite warm – more so than was natural. Looking her over, he could see no trace of physical injury. She merely looked as if she'd fancied a sleep in some foul back alley.

'Rennervate,' muttered Harry.

Amy stirred immediately. From one moment to the next, she was sitting upright, one hand held defensively in front of her, ready to strike, pounce or flee.

'Harry? Daphne?'

'Amy?' asked Daphne. 'What happened?!'

'I … No idea. Where am I?'

Daphne and Harry exchanged a glance.

'Come on,' said Harry, helping her to her feet. 'We'd better get you to Pomfrey.'


	55. ML: Scars

**Scars**

* * *

'Good news! There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with you, Miss Lestrange,' said Madame Pomfrey.

'But I don't remember anything at all!' snarled Amy, trying to rise for what felt like the twentieth time. Once more, Poppy calmly pushed her down again. 'That definitely falls under "something wrong", don't you think?!'

'What is the last thing you remember, Miss Lestrange?' asked Albus Dumbledore kindly, stroking his beard.

Amy scoffed. 'Walking to Hogsmeade. Right after that, Daphne and Harry looking down at me.'

'Nothing else?' asked Harry softly.

She shook her head.

'Several hours …' Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. 'Would you, perhaps, allow me to inspect your wand, Miss Lestrange?'

Amy scowled, looking at Harry. Harry gave a shrug. He doubted the headmaster would feel inclined to mete out punishment even if some rather questionable hexes turned up.

'Fine. Whatever.'

Dumbledore smiled kindly, taking the wand under intense scrutiny, rolling it in his hand, pointing it this way and that way, all the while muttering under his breath. After a while, he pointed his own ridiculously ornate wand at Amy's.

A ghostly door appeared above Amy's wand, and with a click, it unlocked. Next, the apparition of an older Hufflepuff scolding Amy near the main entrance rose from the wand. A jet of purple light cut the rant short, and the fifth-year boy gave an embarrassing squeal, holding the front of his robes. That, apparently, was enough for Dumbledore who, or so Harry could have sworn, fought to keep a straight face, cancelling the spell.

Poppy was less impressed; she was scowling fiercely.

Daphne was giggling. 'Was that a Shrinking Charm?'

Amy smirked back at her. 'Yes, it was. But I don't think it worked very well. Maybe there wasn't enough to be shrunk.'

Dumbledore, perhaps prompted by Poppy's disapproving glare, coughed politely. 'Do you remember casting the Alohomora Charm, Miss Lestrange?'

'No … No, I don't think so.'

'Do you still remember your plans for Hogsmeade?' asked Dumbledore, undeterred.

Amy very pointedly didn't look at Harry or Daphne. 'No,' she lied smoothly, and Harry was impressed. Neither voice nor face had betrayed even the tiniest bit of unease. 'Is there a way to regain the memories?'

Before Dumbledore or Snape could answer, Harry cut them short. 'Nothing you would consider.'

Dumbledore deflated a bit. 'Should you change your opinion, I would be glad to assist. I assure you I am just as curious as you about what really transpired. Until then, I suggest you spend the night under Poppy's care and rejoin us for breakfast tomorrow morning.'

'But there's nothing wrong with me!' protested Amy angrily.

'… sir,' added Daphne, almost as an afterthought.

Dumbledore turned around one last time. With an amused smile, he said, 'Except, as you put it, young lady, not remembering anything at all. Come, Severus – we still need to discuss your proposal.'

Snape, who hadn't said anything throughout the examination, nodded curtly. As he was about to turn around, he muttered, 'Am I correct in assuming that you attacked Hufflepuff's fifth-year prefect when he tried to give you detention, Lestrange?'

'Yes,' grumbled Amy.

'… sir,' added Daphne dutifully.

Snape seemed to hesitate for a second. 'No matter how insufferable the boy is, rules are rules. One point from Slytherin.'

Without another word, he turned around, strutting towards the infirmary's doors, cloak billowing.

'Professor Snape really doesn't like Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors. I wonder why,' said Daphne idly.

'Nonsense!' snapped Poppy, though she did look somewhat conflicted about her duty to defend her colleague and what she'd witnessed. 'Ten minutes, then I want you lot out.'

'But there's nothing wrong with me!' protested Amy again. 'Can't they stay? This is boring!'

'This is the infirmary, not some playground!' Poppy whirled around, raising her finger threateningly. 'Don't test me!'

Harry, knowing Hogwarts' matron fairly well, nodded sagely. 'Don't test her,' he advised, rubbing his elbows.

Poppy harrumphed one last time before she left through the door that led to her office.

Amy grumbled angrily for a few seconds until she seemed to remember something. 'What was it Dumbledore was about to propose earlier?'

'Well, you can break Memory Charms either by force, which I don't think he was about to suggest, or via Legillimency.'

'Hell, no!' snarled Amy. 'I'd rather stew in this kind of rapey uncertainty than have Dumbledore rummaging around in my mind.'

'Rapey?' repeated Daphne, disgusted. 'But I thought – I mean, nothing happened, right?'

'Yeah, well, I know. I think so, at least. But that charm my secret enemy cast to keep me warm freaks me out more than anything. Why go to the trouble?!'

Harry shrugged. 'No idea. But let's not jump to conclusions. Maybe some Hufflepuffs decided it was time for your comeuppance but held the view that it might be rude to leave a girl to freeze in an alley?'

Amy laughed. 'Sounds about right. Stupid Hufflepuffs …'

 _Memory Lane_

Amy left the infirmary the next morning, looking somewhat worse for wear. Apparently, she hadn't taken Harry's words to heart.

'Aren't healers supposed to _heal_ their patients?' she grumbled.

'Patients are supposed to stay in their beds, too,' said Harry. 'And yet, or so I imagine, some don't.'

Leo sighed dramatically from across the table. 'So much for security,' he said, his copy of the Prophet propped against a stack of spurned fruit.

'Hmm?' mumbled Draco.

'Antonin Dolohov's been spotted near Hogsmeade – yesterday!'

Amy sat bold upright. 'Dolohov?!'

Tracey made a face. 'You don't know if he had anything to do with your little … accident.'

'Accident, my bum,' snarled Amy.

'I'm just saying that you shouldn't jump to conclusions! I know he's got a nasty past, but …'

'Who is Antonin Dolohov?' asked Hermione. 'Is he one of the escapees?'

'I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that he's the worst kind of scum that Azkaban has ever had the misfortune to house,' said Harry.

'What did he do?' asked Hermione hesitantly.

'I don't think it's a tale to be told during meals,' said Harry delicately.

Tracey snorted derisively. She hadn't spared Harry more than the occasional glare since their confrontation. 'He's done it all: murder, kidnapping, rape, arson – he's a grade A psychopath! And he hates Muggles and Muggle-borns with a passion.'

'I don't think he likes anything very much,' said Daphne thoughtfully. 'Including himself. It's a bit sad if you think about it that way.'

'Don't be ridiculous! He's a rabid mongrel that needs to be put down – spare me your nonsense touchy-feely explanation. Urgh, I feel dirty just thinking about it,' said Amy.

'He's never done anything to pure-bloods, has he?' said Draco.

'Well, I don't reckon they get any pickier after years in the clink,' replied Amy darkly.

'I don't think Dolohov, if it really was him, would have bothered with the charm to keep you warm, Amy,' said Harry.

'Emeric's Evil Eye, I bloody well hope so!'

Amy wasn't the only one disturbed by the known sociopath lurking close to school, and the shadow of his presence easily overcame Hogwarts' impregnable walls. Where students had, so far, been wandering the castle more or less thoughtlessly, they now seemed to gather in packs, casting suspicious peeks into any of the old, forlorn corridors of the castle.

The best that could be said about the entire affair was that, from Harry's perspective and to his mild surprise, nobody questioned whether Dolohov owed his allegiance to the Blacks or not. A nice change of pace. While Harry knew that his grandfather had men at his disposal that wouldn't shy away from even the dirtiest tasks, Dolohov was more beast than man. And while he didn't want to encourage Amy's nasty imagination, he privately agreed with her notion of putting down a rabid mongrel.

Classes were, at this point, a pleasant distraction from Dolohov, Pettigrew, and all the other troubles.

With fondness, Harry began carving the second row of runes on his little wooden toy sword. Strictly speaking, the coursework only demanded he carve a single rune on the hilt (Glory), but Harry, to Draco's annoyance, was done with that bit within the first five minutes, so he decided to push things to the next level; currently, he was trying to finish a short string of runes that declared his work the property of Harry James Black.

Parkinson, sitting in the row behind him, was cussing furiously under her breath. Draco, at his side, had a small heap of broken toy swords next to him.

'How are your lessons, Hermione? I never asked,' said Harry without looking up.

'The Occlumency business? Confusing and tiring.' She smiled ruefully, inspecting her own very respectable attempt. 'But I'm glad for all the help. To be honest, Tracey seems a bit obsessed with helping me. She wouldn't say why when I asked though.'

'Er, yes, that might just be because of me. She … we had a bit of an argument.'

'That would explain why she glowered so fiercely whenever I mentioned your name these last few days,' said Hermione wisely.

'She only glowered?'

Hermione blushed. 'Erm, not exactly. She also called you a self-righteous twat – among other things.'

Draco chuckled appreciatively. The toy sword was creaking warningly under his shaking fingers.

'How nice. But I actually wanted to ask you about your etiquette lessons.'

'Oh, they're fine. I get along great with my teachers.'

'That's good to hear, I suppose. Do you mind me asking if anything special happened last Hogsmeade weekend?'

'No? Well, I was invited to dinner to practice table manners and banquet customs. I swear, you pure-bloods are obsessed with who's allowed to talk – obsessed!'

'Need I remind you as well that I'm not actually pure-blood?' said Harry, smirking.

'Oh! Well, I suppose you're right. It's so strange, honestly; for me, you're the embodiment of everything pure-blood. But maybe that's good news for me! I mean, if you can make it, then maybe so can I.'

Harry smiled benignly. 'Yes, maybe. So nothing extraordinary happened at all?'

'No? Why are you so hung up about my lessons?'

'Truth be told, Amy tried to follow you, and you know how that turned out.'

'She did?' asked Hermione, looking apprehensive.

There was a loud crack from Harry's other side. 'It wasn't anything personal though,' said Draco, tossing yet another split toy sword. 'She just likes to know what everyone's up to.'

Hermione sighed. 'I suppose. Why didn't she just ask?! I mean, I got into trouble last year because I went behind your back and started researching in the library and everything …'

'Fair enough,' said Harry. 'But to be perfectly honest with you, I suspect she simply wants to get whoever's giving you lessons into trouble.'

'She'd probably swell with pride like a balloon if it turned out to be someone like Abbott,' said Draco.

'I see,' said Hermione tersely.

'It's not Abbott, is it?'

Hermione didn't respond.

'Smith, maybe?'

'I'm not telling, Draco!'

'Aw, come on, Granger!'

'No!'

'Everyone,' shouted Babbling, 'you should all be putting the finishing touches to your work about now. All those who don't, kindly finish your work for next class. I expect artful exhibits. I shall be most displeased if you try to fob off an inferior product on me. Rest assured, there will be … consequences for faineants. Questions?'

'Why can't we just paint the runes, Professor?' wailed Parkinson in her gratingly affected voice. Looking over his shoulder, Harry saw that her painfully intricate manicure was completely ruined.

Tracey, sitting with Daphne in the row behind Parkinson, sniggered unkindly.

'Because it's much easier to protect carvings, because they're much more difficult to meddle with, because it's been done like that for more than two thousand years, and because I say so.'

'Couldn't we just charm the ink to last?' grumbled Parkinson.

'Yes, Parkinson, but you can also change painted runes after the fact. And, I want you to pay attention to what comes next, you _really_ don't want that.'

'Why?!'

'Because it would ruin the work, of course!' said Babbling, her eyes narrowing slightly. 'Art is meant to last, to be enjoyed for all eternity! That's obviously a bit difficult if any low-born peasant can besmear even the most precious cultural asset of humanity.' After a short pause, she added, 'It will also blow up your face.' Her tone suggested that this was, at most, a minor inconvenience in comparison to the defilement of art.

'Why is that, Professor?' asked Daphne from the back. Babbling narrowed her eyes even further, and Daphne hastily added, 'I mean, if we were to know, we could spread the word. We could save so many lovely runes!'

Harry grinned a bit. The class had learned fairly fast how to handle Babbling's obsession.

To nobody's surprise, Babbling nodded slowly. 'You make a fair point, Miss Greengrass. All right, I usually don't like going into this subject until fifth year, but it comes down to imagination. If you all were to imagine abstract concepts like peace, comfort, or friendship, no two results would be exactly the same. The human mind is the apex of subjectivity. But runes are all about visualisation, about vague concepts, about intentions. I don't mind telling you that I'd gladly marry whoever would prove to be so singularly compatible with me that we'd be able to work on one set of magical runes.'

There was a lot of frantic coughing from the back row.

'Are you okay, Harry? You look at bit green,' whispered Hermione.

Harry cleared his throat. 'I'm fine.'

'Ah! Imagine the joy. Sitting in front of a cosy fire,' raved Babbling with a misty look in her eyes, 'writing runes – together.' She gave a sigh of longing, staring ahead, unseeing. After a few seconds of awkwardness, she coughed importantly. 'Anyway. Does that answer your question? Yes? No? Read up on it in your spare time! Class dismissed.'

Harry, Draco, and Hermione unhurriedly packed their supplies, waiting for the rest of the class to squeeze through the door.

'They always do that,' said Draco with a bit of a sneer directed at the crowd. 'Don't they know how ridiculous that looks?'

'Not everyone is obsessed with appearing prim and proper,' said Hermione delicately.

'They should be!' said Draco. 'Dressing to lose is losing already.'

'That's so … superficial!' replied Hermione, disgruntled.

'Is it though?' said Harry mildly. 'Would you rather hire someone who's made the effort to appear presentable or some slob who looks like a tramp? It comes down to respect – for yourself and others. Nobody denies that the latter could possibly be just as good or better than the former, but you can't deny what your instinct would say. Maybe you'd think along the lines of "If he can't even look after himself, why should I entrust my job to him?"'

'And even if you don't buy into that, you should at least try to take advantage of it,' added Draco thoughtfully. 'It's a matter of fact that dressing to impress can have advantages, so why wouldn't you?! If you don't, you just willingly make it harder on yourself.'

Hermione frowned, but she didn't contest his statement.

Tracey and Daphne had already vanished along with the rest of the mob, so the three of them walked through the cool corridors. A group of first year Hufflepuffs hurried out of their way when they saw them coming.

'You'd think we made a sport of hunting Hufflepuffs just for the fun of it,' said Draco.

'They're just scared,' said Hermione.

'Scared people do stupid things,' said Harry absent-mindedly.

Draco sniggered. 'Wouldn't change too much for that lot, then. Watch this!' Loudly, he said, 'So, Harry, do you really think Dolohov will go after Hufflepuff first?'

The first years gave a squeal of terror and fled.

'You're impossible!' Hermione scoffed angrily.

'Impossibly good-looking, maybe,' replied Draco, smiling smugly and raising his chin.

'Yes, yes,' mumbled Hermione. 'You're the best in about everything you do and have.'

'Good of you to notice, Granger.'

Hermione harrumphed scathingly. 'Come on, I don't want to be late for History.'

Harry came to a sudden stop. 'Oh, right, forgot you had that.'

' _You_ have History as well,' Hermione corrected him with a hint of reproach.

'Only technically speaking,' replied Harry smoothly. 'What's that clown up to in class anyway?'

'Revising the history of the Ministry and its organisation,' answered Draco with a groan. 'You'd think he gets paid a bonus every time he gets on his knees to kiss their buttocks.'

Harry held one hand in front of his mouth to hide his yawn. 'Fascinating. Well, don't let me keep you. I think I'm going to start on Snape's essay. Enjoy the brown-nosing.'

'Thanks,' muttered Draco glumly.

'By the way,' said Hermione, who appeared to be deep in thought. 'Professor Prewett always goes on about how the seven major departments house several smaller departments each, right?'

'Right,' said Harry, leaning against the wall, his bag slung over his shoulder. 'And?'

'But there are others, aren't there? Prewett never quite explained what the difference is between those major departments and smaller ones such as the Department for Education. That one's autonomous as well, isn't it? Even though it's not counted among the other seven.'

Draco made a loud snoring noise, tapping his foot impatiently. 'Is that really so important, Granger?'

'Yes!'

Harry smiled though – to be fair – that was mostly directed at Draco's annoyance. 'The seven major departments all enjoy some level of autonomy from the _Minister_ , Hermione. Crouch can't just sack Bones even if he wanted to. But he very well can sack the head of the Department for Education. It's been determined in the past that some things shouldn't be dependent on the whims of the Minister.'

'And education isn't included in that?!' asked Hermione with a horrified expression.

Harry shrugged. 'No, and I don't disagree.' Seeing as the Muggle-born was about to protest loudly, he added, 'From my perspective, education is a private matter. Everyone is responsible for his own education because everyone is ultimately the sole beneficiary of his own education.'

'But children –'

Harry waved a hand. 'Attending a public school isn't a must. In any case, children are under the protection of their parents. If they're too young to make that sort of decision, the parents naturally have the responsibility to make that call in their stead.'

'And what if they don't bother?!'

Harry shrugged again. 'Then they don't. But that's rather unlikely, seeing as … reputable families are constantly vying for any edge imaginable. But nobody has the _duty_ to become educated. We aren't Muggles, Hermione. A wizard or witch is unlikely to starve even if they never learn to spell. It's everyone's own lot in life. Education, even though I personally see the benefits, isn't a means to absolution, a means of becoming happy, or some sort of divine obligation. Wars and death existed thousands of years ago when sophistication was measured by the amount of pelt you were able to wear. It's not much different now, and it presumably won't become any better if humanity should manage to survive another millennium or two. Knowledge might expand, but humans are bound by the shackles of their shell.'

'That's a really dreary outlook on life … Then why bother learning at all?'

Harry exchanged a puzzled look with Draco. 'Because it gives me an edge, naturally.'

'Right,' agreed Draco.

Hermione deflated. 'This is so twisted …'

'No,' said Harry calmly. 'It's just _different_ from what you've come to associate with normal. Normality is, after all, nothing but the pitiful attempt of the human mind to cling to familiarity.'

'You're sounding like a textbook again, mate,' said Draco. 'Take a breather!'

Hermione tore at her hair, making it even bushier. 'Ack! Fine! I'll … I'll think it over some other time.'

'All right. Anything else? Otherwise, I'll be heading to the dungeons now.'

'Wait! Is there a list of the Ministry departments?' asked Hermione.

'Prewett handed one out, didn't he?' interrupted Draco, looking more bored than ever.

'Yes, but it seems … incomplete.'

Harry, who had been about to turn around, stood up straight, examining Hermione carefully. 'What makes you say that?' he asked in a soft voice.

'Well, there's this one department I just couldn't find on that list –'

Harry's hair stood on end. He listened, transfixed.

'– called the Department of Ethics –'

Harry stared at her without moving a muscle. Draco, too, had gone rigid.

'I'm afraid I can't help you there, Hermione,' said Harry after a short internal struggle.

'Really?' asked Hermione, looking astonished.

Harry shrugged in a truly dramatic fashion. Maybe he was overdoing it a bit, but Hermione wasn't a keen observer of mannerisms anyway. 'I'm not omniscient.'

'Could have fooled me,' said Hermione teasingly.

'It's true,' replied Harry with a small smile. 'I didn't, for instance, know about Pansy's fascination with boys' underwear until Draco –'

'All right, all right,' said Hermione hastily, holding up her hands. 'I think this is where I hurry to class. You coming, Draco?'

'Hold on, I never told you –' began Draco sceptically.

'Nevermind,' snapped Hermione, stomping off.

'Seriously, I never mentioned her knickers!' whined Draco. After a second, he added, 'I wouldn't mind trading if she's into that sort of thing.'

Harry watched Hermione leave, his lazy grin vanishing with her when she turned around the next corner. He nodded at Draco.

'Who the fucking hell told her?!' snarled Draco angrily. 'There'll be hell to pay if she keeps blabbing that name in public.'

'So I imagine. But I didn't tell her. Going by your expression, I'd say you weren't daft enough to tell her either.'

'Of course, I didn't!' insisted Draco hotly.

'And I doubt Tracey did.'

'That's great and all, but it doesn't explain who did! It wasn't Longbottom Jr, was it? "Would you please pass me the fertiliser, Hermione? Oh, by the by, my mother's the head of a secret department of the government that's totally outside Wizengamot control."'

'I doubt it,' said Harry dryly.

'Not even Bones would be moronic enough! And they don't talk with Granger anyway.' His dark expression suddenly turned gleeful. 'I hope she asks Prewett. They'll have to investigate the entire class if she does.'

Harry hummed ruminatively.

'What's that? And here I thought you'd relish the thought of that idiot getting sacked.'

'I do, but aren't you worried? What if someone deliberately put her nose on the department just to check if we'd told her.'

'Yeah, but who would?! I think she would've mentioned a hearing at the Ministry, don't you think? And you _know_ they had to compromise with Bones, back in the day; they aren't allowed to use magic on civilians under any circumstances, so how would they know if Granger lied?!'

'I don't know,' mused Harry, his brow furrowed. 'But this feels … wrong.' After a second of hesitation, he made a decision. 'I think you'd better double your efforts to teach her Occlumency, Draco.'

'Tracey will be thrilled,' said Draco, smirking.

' … and don't tell Tracey I told you to do it.'

'Aw, gosh darn it!'

 _Memory Lane_

'Great! Sit down, folks! Sit down,' called Professor Prewett amiably over the ruckus. His smile didn't waver even as Draco entered rather late. 'Ah, Mr Malfoy. Excellent! Please take a seat. No luck with our elusive pair of Slytherins?'

'Maybe next year, Professor,' called Zabini.

'You never know.' Prewett smiled mysteriously. 'Anyway, I think we about covered everything regarding the Ministry last time. Are there any more questions or should we proceed with something more fun?'

Hermione hesitated for a second before she relaxed her well-trained arm again. She was curious, true, but she didn't want to waste any more class time with Ministry organisation. The library – surely – would hold all the answers she'd need.

'None? Splendid! I don't mind telling you that the topic was getting a wee bit mouldy; there are only so many anecdotes I can tell you to liven it up, after all!' He beamed at them. With a boyish grin, he took a seat on top of his desk. 'So, what to do … What to do?! The syllabus says we really ought to start with goblin rebellions, but I never really bought into that stuff. Dreadfully boring and dry as dust. To cut it brutally short, don't buy heirlooms from a goblin, don't borrow from a goblin, and don't trade goblin-made artefacts. You'd be astonished how much bloodshed could've been avoided if people had wisened up a bit earlier.' With a conspiratorial wink, he continued, 'So … any complaints if we leave it at that for now and do something more fun in the meanwhile?'

Prewett had probably expected the class to cheer, and with five out of six possible combinations of houses, he would have been right. But as it turned out, the Slytherins and Ravenclaws merely stared impassively at him (though some did at least smile back at him with a mix of confusion and pity).

Hermione settled for indifference. She thought the entire topic of goblin rebellions was highly suspicious in itself, but she desperately hoped she wasn't about to endure another lesson on 'fun stuff' like the history of magical sports.

'Let's do sports!' called Basil Fawcett from the back row, to some general murmur of consent from most of the boys.

Hermione groaned.

'I'd love to,' replied Prewett longingly, 'but Minerva, well, she had a bit of a word with me. I'm supposed to "balance my curriculum" – whatever that's supposed to mean. I guess we mustn't do Quidditch more often than once a term.'

Padma Patil raised her hand.

'Yes, Patil?' said Prewett.

'How about something like fashion throughout history?'

Hermione groaned again.

Their Professor's smile seemed to turn a little glassy as well. 'Yeah, Patil, thing is, as … fascinating as that sounds, I'm not sure if it's a topic suited for school.'

'And all those stupid Quidditch precursors are?!' demanded Tracey quite audibly.

There was approving grumbling, but Prewett didn't seem to hear it. 'Anything else maybe?'

Jermaine, who was sitting next to Hermione, raised his hand.

'Yes?' prompted Prewett.

'What about the Great Wizarding War?' proposed Jermaine. 'I'm sure Professor McGonagall would approve.'

Hermione sat up straight – even straighter than usual.

'Are you sure? That's kind of dark.' Prewett hesitated, clearly willing to give this option more consideration than fashion. 'I thought we should leave serious stuff like that for later maybe.'

'We aren't _children_ anymore, Professor,' called Parkinson indignantly.

'Of course, of course,' replied Prewett, placatory. 'I just thought –'

'Come on, Professor,' demanded Fawcett. 'It sounds wicked! Dark Lords, war – what's not to like?!'

'Better than fashion,' muttered Draco from the front row.

Prewett seemed to agree. 'All right, I suppose.' He scratched his cheek. 'Okay, I'm sure most of you are aware of this at least, but for our less well-read Muggle-borns, maybe we should start at the very beginning.

'I'm sure many of our newer additions to magical society will find this hard to believe, but Britain isn't the most conservative magical society – far from it. In the Far East, there are magical enclaves that have seen next to no change for nearly two thousand years. Even only counting those you might, in your Muggle terms, label 'western', there are some very … traditional countries in Europe alone. Many, like Sweden or France, are quite progressive, but others will give you the impression that you're still living in the 13th century.'

'What – they don't wash?!' asked Laurel Lightflight to general laughter.

'No, no,' said Prewett with a grin. 'I meant, well, traditions, everyday life, customs – that sort of thing. Magic, you will find, can solve many a problem; witches and wizards didn't have much need to change since magic could solve virtually anything for them. The gap between Muggles and magical people is … truly astounding in some places. Take northern Germany or Denmark, for example; the magical community doesn't even speak the same language as their own Muggle counterparts. Most learned witches and wizards are perfectly capable of speaking modern Danish or German, naturally, but some don't. Imagine coming to Hogwarts and finding your classmates prattling in Middle English. It's not great for integration purposes, let me tell you.'

'What do the Muggle-borns do?!' asked Hermione, shocked. 'That's horrible!'

'Generally speaking, they struggle – a lot,' replied Prewett severely. 'Up until the early 19th century, there were still countries in Europe that banned the acceptance of non-adopted Muggle-borns into their most prestigious schools. Nowadays, Europe, at least, tends to take a very meritocratic stance.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' asked Fawcett.

'It means they don't pay too much attention to your background as long as you're good enough. But remember, the situation is different in every country. France, for instance, feels a lot like, well, a magical grammar school.'

'What's that?!' asked Draco, puzzled. 'Do Muggles even need a school to learn how to talk proper?'

A few Slytherins sniggered.

' … properly,' breathed Hermione absent-mindedly.

'No, it's … an advanced sort of school for Muggle children, Malfoy. Anyway, I just wanted to make it clear that the rift between Muggle-borns and pure-bloods, even though some countries might dispute the very term, can be severe. Britain used to be on the very conservative side of things, but there were worse cases – far worse.'

'Seemed like they had an iron grip on things, Professor,' said Michael Corner. 'So what happened? Grindelwald?'

A few classmates, to Hermione's surprise, flinched or hissed angrily. Even Prewett looked slightly unsettled.

'Er, no. Not at first, anyway. While everything I told you thus far is undeniably true, you have to understand that many magical countries, most of Africa for instance, are quite modern and forward-looking. I suppose the trouble really started at the turn of the century when a coalition in the ICW proposed a bill that would've made the facilitation of discrimination against Muggle-borns a statutory crime – not for the individual, mind you, but for the state.

'To be honest, nobody paid too much attention at first. Every other day, someone's trying to pass some queer law through the ICW, and the vast majority gets hammered. Not even one in four hundred draft laws passes. It's quite difficult for all the countries to agree on anything but the most fundamental of crimes. What made this case special, though, was that a very prominent voting block of progressive states had backed this bill. They didn't have nearly enough votes to make it pass, but it certainly made waves.'

'What happened, sir?' asked Hermione.

'Well, as you might imagine, there were those who felt their way of life at risk, which – as it always does – prompted others to attack them as self-serving, political die-hards. This vicious circle of instigation continued to simmer beneath the surface for a decade or two in some countries. The few Muggle-borns that had made it in those countries caught wind of what they perceived as a chance, and that's where the trouble really started: agitation, political threats, riots, oppression – in a few more sparsely populated countries, the situation was beginning to spin out of control. The ICW had trouble covering it up with the Muggles. The papers were full of bad news during the twenties. And when the chaos was at its highest, a man entered the scene with a very … simple and radical idea: what if all the countries pooled their resources and cast a spell that would make the Muggles forever incapable of discovering the magical world. And that man was Gellert Grindelwald.'

'It doesn't sound too bad,' said Yaxley, frowning. 'I mean, isn't that was the Statute of Secrecy is supposed to do anyway?'

Prewett gave a humourless smile. 'That was precisely the reaction many people had. The European section of the ICW actually started investigating the possibility of casting this spell, headed in their efforts by Grindelwald himself.'

'But that wouldn't have done anything about the Muggle-born situation!' said Hermione, disgruntled.

'Which is precisely, of course, why countries of both political camps were able to entertain the notion. Many of Europe's most brilliant heads gathered for a symposium. Charms were invented and dismissed on a daily basis. It was, perhaps, the most astounding leap in magical research the world had seen in recent times.'

'What went wrong?'

'Even though many noteworthy names were involved in the research, the most brilliant, or so it seemed, were Gellert Grindelwald and a … close friend of his. The research, as grand as it was, progressed surprisingly well. Grindelwald was hailed as the miracle healer of an ailing world – brilliant, unsurpassed, untouchable.

'It was only when another man, another very _experienced_ man, decided to have a look at their research that it all came falling apart. You might've heard his name; it was Nicolas Flamel.'

'The alchemist?' asked Tracey loudly.

'The very same. Monsieur Flamel was nearly six hundred years old when he politely asked to have a look at this research the continental press was hailing as the 'wonder solution'. Grindelwald, no doubt taken by his own genius, agreed.

'Monsieur Flamel had a look – and what he saw terrified him. Grindelwald's design for a spell ostensibly held its promise; it would make Muggles forever forget about Magic. But the spell wasn't anything like an ordinary Memory Charm. It was closer, much closer, to a curse – and a dangerous one at that. You see, Grindelwald intended to make Muggles oblivious to magic under any circumstances, completely erase us from their existence.'

'I thought that was what he set out to do?' asked Fawcett, confused.

'Yes … and no. Grindelwald's spell would have made it impossible for anyone without magical blood to see us, to speak to us, to even _feel_ our presence. A witch or wizard could have walked through the streets, kicking, striking, or otherwise manhandling Muggles in any way imaginable – and they would have been doomed to remain forever oblivious.

'Don't you see how twisted, how sadistic the idea truly was? They would have been able to feel pain but not understand why. They would have been helpless to anything: theft, exploitation – even murder or rape. And their minds would have been utterly incapable of ever understanding what had happened.'

'I don't mean to be crass, Professor,' said Blaise Zabini, 'but aren't Muggles helpless to all of that even now?'

Prewett grimaced. 'Not quite. Memory Charms can be overcome, curses can be fought – sometimes even by Muggles. And despite the Statute of Secrecy, Muggles often serve as valuable witnesses for crimes committed by wizards or witches. All of that would have been rendered absolutely impossible. Don't you see? Grindelwald wasn't planning on protecting the magical societies from Muggles, or even to lessen the tension between them; he was researching how to defeat them – once and for all.'

 _Memory Lane_

'Well, that was cheerful,' said Hermione as she accompanied Tracey to the abandoned classroom they used for their private practise sessions.

Tracey bobbed her head. 'I know, right?! You get lessons about doom and death every other day, but sunshine and roses are never mentioned. I find that highly suspicious!' After a thoughtful pause, she added, 'For what it's worth, I think he actually did a good job for once. Turns out he knows as much about the war as he does about Quidditch – who would've guessed?!'

Hermione nodded emphatically. 'It's kind of scary though, isn't it? What Grindelwald planned to do? Even if he didn't want to outright kill them all …'

'Worst thing is how proud he was. His perfect 'clean' solution, that's what he smugly called it.' Tracey scowled. 'It was all rubbish, of course. Madmen are madmen; I'll eat my hat if Flamel disappearing within the first week of the war was unrelated to his discovery of Grindelwald's plans. You can't argue with lunatics.'

'Grindelwald killed him?!'

Tracey shrugged. 'Who knows? But he's definitely gone. Even if it wasn't him, it was probably one of his nutty bootlickers.' She opened the door, waiting for Hermione to step inside.

Hermione nodded thankfully, walking towards the modest seating arrangement near the cobwebbed windows. 'There were a lot of them, weren't there?'

Tracey gave a stiff nod.

'Did they catch them all?'

The petite witch gave a mirthless laugh. 'Oh, no. Merlin, no! Not by a long shot. Grindelwald was a maniac, but he was brainy. Most of the big stuff – terrorism, extortion, the killing – that was all done covertly. They had a real problem finding evidence and witnesses even for those they caught in the act. Many got off scot-free. Worse, some were still organised in their exclusive little terrorist cells even after Grindelwald was sentenced to death.'

Hermione stared, horrified. 'They let them go?!'

'Yeah. They never got them to talk either. They'd all sworn some kind of binding magical oath that made betraying their comrades or their secrets impossible. It was a massive headache for the DMLE.'

'So most of them are still at large?!'

Again, Tracey nodded grimly. 'More or less. Some did get sentenced, and those that pulled the strings, heads of families and the like, are mostly either dead or senile now, of course. But yeah, they got away. There was a lot of trouble for almost two decades after Grindelwald's downfall. Acts of revenge, public displays of loyalty to his cause … those kinds of things.'

'What families _were_ accused of supporting him, then?'

Hermione's vis-à-vis was about to answer when her mouth suddenly snapped shut again. 'Enough with the silly questions. Come on, let's start with the meditation exercises again. Leo and Draco will be here in ten, and I don't want Draco to get the idea that we can't get anything done without him.'

'Oh. Yes, of course. I suppose he doesn't need his ego inflated any further,' said Hermione with a shy smile.

'Probably not. But, to be honest, I don't hate that about him. At least he's being honest about being an arrogant prick.' Tracey grinned, but her words were sharp, acrid.

'You're … talking about Harry again, aren't you?' asked Hermione in a quiet voice.

Tracey's grin vanished fairly quickly. She picked up their study plan. 'Let's not talk about that.'

'Him,' insisted Hermione. She didn't enjoy all the bickering very much.

'… him,' repeated Tracey reluctantly. 'Let's just get on with it, please.'

'All right. I suppose with the joy of another endurance run looming tomorrow, we should get all the sleep we can.'

Tracey snorted. 'Yeah, probably.'

'I'm surprised Greengrass isn't giving up, to be honest,' mused Hermione, oblivious to Tracey's attempt to subtly push the course material in her direction.

'What? Daphy? Oh, she's pretty tough. I wouldn't underestimate her.'

'She's barely able to talk for a few hours after each run,' pointed Hermione out.

Tracey sniggered. 'Yeah, but – to be fair – she always manages to finish.'

'Barely. Have you seen her staggering in the shower?! She's so wobbly she hardly manages to dress properly, wincing with each movement!'

'But she does it anyway,' said Tracey proudly. 'She can be a bit … girlish at times, but she's got plenty of grit when it really counts.'

'Did she have a wild childhood?'

Tracey sighed, putting the material for the meditation exercises away. 'Not exactly. Turbulent, maybe, but she wasn't much of a tomboy. She's always been pretty stubborn though. Really stubborn! When Daphne was five, she heard some stupid tale about a princess riding an Abraxan. And guess what! When she finally got around to seeing one, she immediately climbed the fence to imitate her childhood hero. She probably didn't even hear her parents, me, or the terrified handler as we screamed for her to come back. She wanted to do it, so she did it.'

'Nothing happened, right?!'

Tracey laughed. 'No. The Abraxan simply gave her an annoyed look and ignored her. Daphne was super mad.'

'That would explain some of her injuries though,' said Hermione thoughtfully.

'Injuries?' asked Tracey, looking confused.

'Well, yes. After our first run, when she nearly collapsed in the shower, I noticed her wearing some kind of charmed bandage to hide a really long scar on her left arm. I haven't seen it since, but I don't think she takes the bandages off except to shower.'

'Oh. Right. That,' said Tracey. 'She doesn't like talking about it. Thinks it disfigures her. Best not to mention it.'

 _Memory Lane_

Night time wanderings were a common occurrence at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Pranks, pranks gone wrong, hiding incriminating evidence, exploring, exploring broom closets, idle curiosity, or just because – those were but a few of the popular reasons that drove the students to sneak out of bed despite the prefects' best efforts.

More often than not, they were repeat offenders. It required a certain kind of mindset to sneak out of the dormitories, hide between the columns whenever a patrol (be it teacher or prefect) walked past, and scurry about the cold, lonely halls, but if you'd done it once, you were twice as likely to do it again.

All the more unusual, there were two first-timers from the same dormitory prowling the castle, or at least out of bed, this night.

Hermione Jean Granger, Slytherin, was currently violating curfew by breaking into the library, and she was doing so with a guilty conscience. Not only because she was breaking a very sensible school rule (or two, as the lock softly clicked following her spell) but also because she was breaking a promise to Leo, who had – to her initial surprise – always been very decent to her, despite the bad reputation his family had. It was probably all just stupid rumours and hearsay again. What could the Lestranges possibly have done to deserve this hate?! Even if Amadina was, admittedly, slightly scary.

Leo was, in contrast to Harry, despite his superficially cold appearance and his craze for cleanliness somehow somewhat approachable. Easier to understand. Less layered, perhaps. Yes, that was it. With Leo, Hermione always felt like she knew where she stood.

She was being silly, maybe, but curiosity wasn't a sin – or was it? She'd only check this one more time. The truth couldn't hurt, could it? No, the very notion that the truth could be … bad was ridiculous. People had fought for truth and freedom for the better part of humanity's past, hadn't they?

On quiet feet, Hermione approached the history section of the library, her wand casting a dull, grey light on the endless rows of knowledge.

She knew the library very well, and it didn't take her long to find what she was looking for.

 _On the Great War, by Bathilda Bagshot_

Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder. All was quiet. With shaky hands, she flipped the pages to Britain's Grindelwald Trials. Of twenty-seven main suspects, nine had died before the war had come to its conclusion or shortly afterwards – sometimes fairly mysteriously within their holding cells. Three had been completely cleared of all doubt. Thirteen had been sent to Azkaban. Two, those accused of being direct supporters – if not close confidants – of Grindelwald himself, had left the court free men … somehow.

Shaking with nerves, Hermione turned the page.

And there they were. Unfamiliar forenames she had expected. Familiar surnames she had dreaded. Leaving court in triumph, nodding imperiously in the direction of the photographer, clad in pristine robes of smooth silk, wearing respectability and grace like a second skin were Sirius Black II and Radulf Lestrange.

Hermione continued to stare at the picture for longer than she cared to remember. It was an old black and white picture, and that was exactly how it should have been; colours would have been woefully out of place.

 _Memory Lane_

Harry was no stranger to mild bouts of paranoia. The feeling of someone following you, the vague hunch that events were unfolding due to an unseen person's influence, the sense that someone was staring down at you in your sleep …

Those shouldn't even count as personality disorders, really. For people with a … colourful personal history, they should be totally acceptable. Besides, he knew better.

With yet another frown, he turned around, drawing the blanket over his shoulder.

It didn't help, of course, that you knew nothing was there. Not making sure only reinforced the anxiety and looking felt like losing some inner struggle.

He gritted his teeth. He hated losing. He wouldn't look. Nothing was there. He was just being silly again …

For one or two minutes, Harry tried to relax.

On the other hand … if it were possible to check without looking, well, that could hardly be construed as losing, now, could it?

Without opening his eyes, he slowly stretched out his hands.

'See?' he thought. 'There's nothing at a–'

His hand brushed against cotton. He gave a start, staring with bulging eyes at the person looming over him.

'Good evening, Harry,' said Tracey. Her voice was as calm and cold as a frozen sea. 'Sleeping rather peacefully, aren't you?'

'Tracey?! What in Merlin's name are you doing?!'

'I had a chat with Hermione this evening, you know?' she continued as if she were telling him about the weather, as if she weren't standing stiffly right next to his bed in the middle of the bleeding night, wand clutched tightly in her delicate hand.

'Yeah?' asked Harry numbly, looking at the other beds. The curtains weren't drawn. Lying in each bed, spread-eagled and clearly out of it, lay the other boys.

'Yeah. My mum always says, "only children and fools tell the truth". I've always hated the saying, you know, but I have to grudgingly admit there's something to it.'

'What are you on about?! Listen, it's the dead of night! Can't we talk tomor–'

'I know about Daphne,' said Tracey smoothly, still staring down at him. 'I've had a look at her arm tonight.'

'What about her a–'

A blow so fierce struck Harry's face that he crashed painfully against the dormitory wall. At the same time, he heard a muffled yelp and a thud from in front of his bed.

With a snarl, he spat blood and a broken tooth on his duvet. His jaw was on fire. Tracey, her entire face red and raw, her left eye swollen as if she'd been punched, was struggling to get to her feet again. 'So worth it,' she spat. 'She could have died! Do you actually care?! Is this all a game to you?! She could have DIED! You enslaved my best friend, someone who's trusting you with all her heart! Can you actually sink any lower?! You're scum! I hate you! I hate, hate, HATE you!'

She shot him one last contemptuous glare. 'If I never have to speak to you again, it'll be all too soon. We're through!'


	56. ML: Confounded Insight

**Confounded insight**

* * *

Harry felt like one of those unidentifiable, unspeakable things dragged from the gutter after a particularly excessive night of debauchery. He hadn't slept much following Tracey's night time raid, mostly because he'd been busy soothing his bruises and regrowing a tooth.

And while he looked presentable enough, he still felt very much like a guy who had been walloped by a girl one head shorter than him. Speaking of the devil, Tracey was very prominently absent this morning, and her absence had – unsurprisingly – been noted.

'I don't think you get enough sleep, Harry,' said Leo diligently.

'Right,' said Harry, the tone of his voice a drab monotone of lethargy.

'Did you stay up all night reading again?' asked Daphne.

'No.'

'Could you, perhaps, bestow upon us the joy of answers beyond single words?' asked Draco irritably.

Harry shrugged, suppressing a wince. His shoulder didn't feel quite right yet. 'Maybe.'

Draco gave a dramatic sigh, raising his palms towards the ceiling like a man despairing of life. 'Dear Merlin, I tried.'

'Anyway,' said Amy, 'what was that about Tracey, Daphne?'

'Right. I just gave up in the end. I mean, what was I supposed to do?! Drag her out of there? She just wouldn't leave, no matter what I said or did. She sounded really down.'

'Curious,' said Leo.

'It's probably just one of those stupid girl things,' opined Draco, master of womanly knowledge and conversational politeness. 'She'll probably be back to her annoying bubbly self by tomorrow.'

The girls glared at Draco.

'Maybe she's ill?' asked Hermione. 'Should we ask Madame Pomfrey to have a look?'

'Can't Harry? I mean, he's sort of the stand-in nurse anyway, right?' said Daphne.

It took Harry a second to realise that, apparently, his name had come up. Everyone was looking at him. 'Come again?'

'Two words!' cheered Draco. 'We did it, guys!'

Amy, without looking up from her bowl of porridge, casually smacked the back of Draco's head.

'Can't you have a look at what's wrong with Tracey? I … I couldn't get a good look with her hiding underneath her blanket, but when she peeked out, I thought she rather looked like she had a black eye,' said Daphne. 'Do you think she got into a fight?'

'I … have a meeting with a Professor later today, and I really don't think I can delay it again,' invented Harry wildly. Producing a bit of paper, he scribbled a few lines. 'But these potions should be good enough. You could either ask Poppy or –'

'I'll brew them myself,' replied Daphne immediately, looking excited. 'Murtlap Essence, Invigorating Draught … Hmm … I think I'll manage.'

'Isn't the Invigorating Draught a fourth-year potion?!' asked Hermione. 'Want me to help out?'

Daphne was about to decline when she seemed to reconsider. 'I don– You know what? Yes, please. We'll be done in half the time. I don't want Tracey to feel so miserable all day …'

Amy rolled her eyes. 'She only got into a fight. She'll get better. I admit, your knuckles hurt like hell no matter how you do it, but it'll go away on its own eventually.'

'I want to help my friend!' insisted Daphne.

Hermione smiled. 'Let's get to it after Transfiguration.'

The two third year girls nodded at one another.

Amy shrugged even as Leo gave a faint smile.

'Transfiguration,' said Draco, yawning widely. 'I'm so looking forward to that.'

 _Memory Lane_

'You should have told me sooner,' drawled a cold voice fraught with disappointment.

'But I only just found out, Father!' he insisted. He hated how he still felt like a child whenever his father chided him.

'Such fire. If only you would pay attention to your surroundings with as much passion, we wouldn't find ourselves in this regrettable position. We should have known. I should have known. I could have used the knowledge to gain clout over the Blacks. But – alas – all wasted. All for nothing. Sometimes I really wonder …'

He clenched his fists in his pockets, staring at his feet. He was just as tall as his father by now, but there was no doubt who was the dwarf and who the giant. 'Wonder what, Father?'

'I wonder about your future and the future of our noble house. Will you really be able to –' Father hummed ruminatively, staring down at him with an impassive face. 'We shall see. We shall see. Your mother tells me to give you time.'

He continued to stare at the floor. He was grateful that his mother, at least, had always been supportive.

'But women can be weak,' continued Father mercilessly. 'And there's her blood to consider, too.' Father stood up, leaving him bowing in the direction of the chair like a fool. 'I suggest you better yourself. Otherwise, I might have to entertain the notion of fathering another heir. You understand, don't you?'

'Yes, Father,' he hissed angrily.

The strike caught him right along the ear, leaving him a hurting, whimpering mess on the floor. Father hadn't _hit_ him, of course. That's what he carried his cane for. He wasn't much into touching other people. 'I am not one of those fools you usually surround yourself with! I suggest you keep your flippant tongue closely guarded or I shall have to do something about it.'

'Yes, Father.'

Without another word, the man left, drawing the cherry-wood door shut behind him with nary a sound.

All that was left behind was the frustration, the rage, the indignity, and the pain. He cursed, punching the floor. He wouldn't let it get to him. He was stronger than this!

When he looked up again, he stared at a bright, if massive, front door made of ash.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Harry got to his feet, leaving the respectably dark world of cherry and precious velvet behind. Looking over his shoulder, he realised he was, in fact, standing in a familiar open corridor. There were steep, carpeted stairs behind him with dozens of lively, waving portraits lining the wall. A comforting smell of waffles and coffee was swirling about.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

'Are we expecting visitors, James?'

The woman was walking down the steps, a bundle with a mop of thin, unruly black hair in her arms.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

With a frown, the woman approached the door. 'James?!' she called again.

'Yeah?' came a voice from the kitchen. 'Damn, these waffles are to die for.'

The woman rolled her eyes, reaching for the doorknob. But it burst open on its own, and a swarm of black-clad figures stormed inside, wands at the ready. Spells soared through the entry hall like a particularly wild light show. The woman was already collapsing before the door crashed with a loud thud against the wall. One of the attackers lowered his wand, pulling back his hood. He was a bulky man with thick eyebrows and a nasty scar ruining the entire right side of his face. One ear appeared to be burned off. He drank deeply of the air, his enormous chest heaving before he let out a happy little sigh.

'Lily?!' called the man from the kitchen. 'Lily? Who is it?'

James Potter, wearing a striped apron, entered the hall with a wand in one hand and a ladle in the other. His eyes widened when he saw his wife lying on the floor, surrounded by a flock of masked intruders, but that shock was nothing compared to his expression when he saw the softly smiling man.

'Dolohov! You!' he snarled, throwing himself behind a decorative palm tree that rose from the base of the stairway almost to the very top. His wand became a blur, firing hexes and curses, trying to summon his unconscious wife into safety.

The man's, Dolohov's, grin only widened. 'We've invited ourselves round to tea. Do I smell waffles, Potter? I do like myself some waffles.'

A female masked assailant strode through both the ring of eagerly watching vultures and the blaze of James Potter's spellfire, dodging or redirecting curses as if they were a mere annoyance. Casually, she cancelled the Summoning Charm, placing a spiky heel right on top of Lily Potter's throat. 'Hmm,' she said, her voice purring. 'Such a delicate little neck. Twitchy, twatty – stabbidee stab!'

'Oi, don't hurt the brat,' called Dolohov from behind.

'NO! You bastards!' screamed James Potter. 'Duel me then! Or are you cravens as well as mongrels?!'

'–ck …'

The woman laughed, ringlets of fine hair escaping her hood. She took her foot off Lily Potter's neck. 'Oh, I do love it when they fight back. Let me have this one, Antonin. Young Master Potter and the rest of you may watch if you don't mind your cloaks getting messy …'

'… Black …'

'You crazy bitch,' snarled Dolohov. 'Fine, the rest of you secure the mansion, throw up some wards, set up traps near every entrance. Those cocksuckers from the Ministry will be here eventually, and we'll gut every last one of them like the pigs they are until it's done.'

'It won't take longer than five minutes,' said the woman with an appraising look at James Potter.

'Fine, just don't play around too much–'

'Black!'

The world started to collapse inch by inch. The walls and even the people came tumbling down as if reality were disintegrating into the particles of imagination, to be replaced first by calm white and then the very un-calm face of Professor McGonagall.

'Would it be at all possible to get your attention for just a second, Black?!' she said, trembling with fury.

Harry had a look around. He was currently attending Transfiguration (or maybe more accurately, supposed to be attending). The entire class was staring at him. There was some scattered sniggering. But his mind was miles away.

'Right, I apologise, Professor,' he muttered hastily, getting to his feet. 'Not feeling too well. Blood pressure. By your leave …'

He hurriedly gathered his books, shoved the peacefully snoring Draco off his copy of _Intermediate Transfiguration_ , and fled the classroom, leaving McGonagall's spluttering protests and a thoroughly bewildered class behind.

He made it just in time to the restroom to fetch up in the washbasin.

Fighting for breath, he stared through red eyes at the ghostly mirror image in front of him. The vision – memory – was still perfectly clear. A man standing in the hallway of Potter Mansion, taking deep breaths, smirking mockingly at the peaceful atmosphere.

Who knew Transfiguration could be so instructive? He'd learned more in his sleep than during the last two years combined. He'd learned one of the faces that had thrown him into hell. One of the faces responsible for his torment of mild neglect, apathy, and servitude at the hands of the Ministry. Worse, one of the faces responsible for the condition that had overshadowed nearly ten years of his life. One of the faces belonging to the people he was going to relieve of their mocking smirk forever.

Better yet, he was close. Within arm's reach.

Dolohov!

 _Memory Lane_

'Say that again – to my face!' growled Boris, flexing his fists.

'Did I speak too fast for you, you bearded, smelly ape? What part of "fetch me something to drink, brute" didn't you understand?'

'You've got some nerve, Glucksburgh. Just you wait; the boss won't be around forever to save your sorry arse.'

'It's Glücksburg,' said Glücksburg with maddening patience, stressing each syllable. 'I know your monkey brain has problems with higher functions, but do try to keep up, for heaven's sake.'

Antonius sighed, rubbing his eyes. It had started sooner than he'd feared.

'I'll snap you like a twig, you skinny twerp!' snarled Boris. 'Come on, want to find out what happens when we have a go at one another? Muscle or magic, your choice! I'll crush you!'

Glücksburg gave his colleague a patronising look. 'Yes, probably. And what will that prove? That you're the more vicious, brutish thug between the both of us? Go pound your chest and scream mad, masculine defiance for all I care. But would you please – please with a cherry on top – fetch me something to drink when you're done displaying your pitiable drive for overcompensation? Thanks.'

Boris stared at Glücksburg for three seconds, mouth slightly parted. Then, without another word, he jerkily stormed off, kicking at a few saplings. Glücksburg leaned back in his conjured sunbed, readjusting his shades.

'I'm glad you're entertained, but would you please keep your antics to a minimum? We need Boris,' said Antonius wearily.

'Antics?' asked Glücksburg innocently. 'Whatever do you mean? Ah – Fujiwara,' he exclaimed loudly, jumping to his feet to offer a polite bow before he gently took her hand, brushing his lips against her skin. Antonius had to give it to him; even though he knew the German was just fooling around, nobody could deny his confidence. He was, perhaps, a bit too confident. He wasn't overly tall, maybe five foot nine, with lots of wavy, blond hair that was neatly parted along the left side. And then there was his smile. More than anything, that was what rubbed others the wrong way about him. It clearly seemed to say: 'I know a lot of things you can't even begin to fathom, but I'll nevertheless stoop to talk to you. I'm that charitable a person.' Unless he was talking to women, of course. 'It's been so long! Have any of these hillbillies recently told you how stunning you look in your uniform?'

Fujiwara blushed. 'Thank you. It's good that you could come. Where are Sterling, Ahuja, and Mao?'

'Forget them! They wanted to rest for a while before our meeting. We should go and find a quiet spot for just the two of us. Catch up and all of that.'

'I don't think that would be very appropriate – sir,' mumbled Fujiwara awkwardly.

Antonius felt it best left unsaid that the others of his squad probably needed a rest from Glücksburg's company.

Glücksburg sighed like a prince, which, annoyingly, reminded Antonius that his Loremaster _was_ a prince. He hated aristocracy. At least he got to boss around one of them – a small victory.

'So this is where he built Nurmengard, ey? Birches, bushes, and boars – I thought the Dark Lord had more flair than that.'

'Did you have a look at the material I sent you?' asked Antonius impatiently.

'Of course, I did! Most exciting thing to happen ever since you dumped me at headquarters.'

'We're talking about the escape of the worst Dark Lord Europe has ever seen,' Antonius reminded him angrily. 'Are you taking this seriously?'

Glücksburg waved a hand. 'So what? I don't get to enjoy it because it's a bit serious this time around? It's still quite thrilling, isn't it? We'll just have to catch him; you worry too much. You'll get worry lines. More worry lines.'

Antonius knew better than to reply.

Their camp was fairly spartan: enchanted tents, a potions and alchemy laboratory, a small portable library, some basic supplies – all of that was arranged in a semi-circle in the lee of a cliff. He had Fujiwara and Boris ward the place for a few days, but that had been mostly to keep them busy. He doubted many people made the trip. They'd also put the Muggle who had been snooping around out cold. They couldn't afford any blunders.

It wasn't until later that evening that things finally calmed down enough to hold the meeting.

'Right,' said Antonius, standing in front of his squad, 'for our latecomers, I want to make it absolutely clear that this might be our most important work yet. No messy business. No solo actions. No babbling. Everything concerning this case must never be shared outside of this squad.'

Sterling looked at him askance. 'Isn't that a bit excessive, sir? I don't get why we stick to all the secrecy. If this is so serious, shouldn't we call more backup from headquarters?'

Glücksburg gave another lofty sigh. 'It's because we'll have to investigate our superiors, my merry Irish friend. Someone is holding back information. I'd wager the odds are below outrageous that nobody at the ICW noticed Grindelwald escaping. But if we start making waves without proper evidence, we'll be relocated, reassigned, or retired – if we're lucky. Not that I'd care too much, mind you, but being an Auror is quite diverting. I'd have to look for another pastime.'

'Yes, thank you for your insights, Glücksburg,' said Antonius severely. 'As he said, discretion and secrecy are going to be our top priority. We're going to take care of all the investigations and research ourselves – no word to anyone. You lot got all that?'

There was a lot of nodding and mumbling.

'Yes, sir!' said Fujiwara dutifully.

Mao saluted.

'You got it, boss,' said Boris.

'All right. Let's get started. Mao? Ahuja? You had a look at the wards yet?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Sergeant Mao at once. The Chinese was, by far, the oldest of the squad – not that it was possible to tell. As far as Antonius knew, the man sustained himself purely with green tea and rice, but he was as fit as any of them – in a wiry, flexible sort of way. It was valuable to have old officers on the squad; only the smart enlisted men got to grow old. 'Our first investigation indicates that we're dealing with at least seven dozen ward lines, partially overlapping, ranging from mental attacks to some curses I've never seen or even heard of. We've concluded that it'll take about three months to divert, disarm, misdirect, or overwrite them – with all of us involved at least fourteen hours a day. And even though we can't be sure, we highly suspect that whoever set up these wards will realise our tempering the instant we start.'

Boris whistled appreciatively. 'Someone made a good job of it.'

'It's a bit more than that,' said Second Lieutenant Ahuja. Despite hailing from a village so small even modern maps wouldn't bother marking it, and despite growing up with twelve siblings in a region Antonius was struggling not to call the bush, Ahuja, despite her young age, was probably the second most educated Auror of his squad, following Glückburg, who'd attended the most prestigious schools of the world – because he thought it would be good fun to see foreign parts and have a laugh. 'Some ward lines are as close as two to four micrometres; that's about two thousand times more precise work than professional Gringotts curse breakers have to master for their A-Rank certificate. I've never seen anything like it. My professor would have a heart attack from excitement. But, frankly, that's not even the most disturbing thing we've found.'

Antonius grimaced. 'And what is?'

'They were all cast by the same hand.'

'How can you tell?' asked Corporal Sterling curiously.

'You start recognising patterns, idioms – penmanship if you will – if you've studied wards for some time. I'm absolutely sure one … entity cast all the wards alone. But that's _still_ not the worst, sir.'

Boris frowned. 'Oh, come on – you're tantalising us on purpose, Ahuja!'

Ahuja merely shook her head. 'The worst, the most bizarre, the most amazing thing about these wards is that they were _all_ woven, sometimes interwoven. We haven't found a single runestone or anything resembling an anchor. Considering the entire area easily covers a few dozen football pitches, we're speaking one or two books' worth of runes for every single ward that this … thing … wrote from the top of its head. Please keep in mind that we've discovered more than eighty individual wards so far. I'm not exaggerating when I say this ward array would fill a library. In all honesty, I don't think whatever did this can be entirely human.'

'The lass is right,' said Mao darkly. 'This is the work of the devil, I tell you. I feel it in my bones.'

They were all silent, only the cawing of a bird dancing playfully in the air above them echoed through the trees.

'Listen,' said Antonius in a low voice. 'I know most of you are fairly young –'

Mao harrumphed loudly.

'– or still feel young despite being a lot older than Dumbledore,' Antonius continued without missing a beat, 'and I know Grindelwald is some person from the books for you, a story villain, just another of history's monstrosities. But I've seen him. I was there when he was standing trial. I saw him fight. As … hard as it might be to understand, to stomach, he's not the same as you or me. You're the best duellist we have, Sterling, and you're doing us all proud, kid, but don't ever – ever! – entertain the notion of fighting Grindelwald on your own or in a fair fight. He's not like us. He's … something different – apart.'

Sterling scowled but didn't reply.

'Is he really so dangerous?' asked Ahuja hesitantly.

'He is just thinking on a … different scale. He's not mad if that's what you're asking, Lieutenant, but that only makes him more of a threat. He doesn't kill if it isn't necessary. But on the other hand, he doesn't hesitate to slaughter a whole family if he thinks it needs to be done. He has weaknesses, of course. He likes to hear himself talk. Unfortunately, others like to hear him talk, as well, and he's about the most charismatic and persuasive human being to have ever lived, so a fat lot of good that will do us.

'Secondly, and more importantly, he is inquisitive. He is fascinated by knowledge, and he respects people who value it. Problem is, people that fascinate him end up dead. It is for that reason that you, Glücksburg, are probably in more danger than the rest of us. He won't see the rest of you as a threat, but his interest might be worse luck than his ire.'

Glücksburg smirked cockily. 'And what about you, my friend? I don't think he'll forgive you or the rest of the elders for pulling a fast one on him last time.'

'What kind of nonsense are you on about now?' demanded Boris.

Antonius, meanwhile, was cursing the need for the German to be present at all. It was only the first day, and he was already getting a headache. _How could he know?!_ 'That's strictly need to know, Boris. Glücksburg, do us all a favour and shut up for a second.'

'I was only trying to –'

'That was an order, Major!'

Glücksburg sighed, rolling his eyes before he pulled off the most sloppy, lazy, and sarcastic salute Antonius had ever seen. 'Yes, sir.'

'Fujiwara, how are our preparations with the camp progressing?'

'We're finished, sir,' said Fujiwara. 'Everything's set up and ready. Connections to the outside world have been cut entirely, and we can start on the wards as soon as you give the order.'

'Good. How are our supplies, Boris?'

'We've got everything we need and then some, boss. There's enough Pelmeni and Vodka to last the year!'

'You did round up some other food, right?' asked Antonius with a sense of foreboding.

Boris frowned. 'Yeah, a bit. Fujiwara was going on and on about how she didn't want to live like an unemployed bachelor.'

 _Thank god …_

'You have the rest of the day off to get some rest. It'll be the last time for a while, so make the most of it. I also need a volunteer for a minor task in Britain. The Tonks girl has been found, and I want to know if there's anything to be learned from her.'

One man raised his hand. 'I suppose I could make the trip – stretch my legs.'

'All right, you got it. I'm not gonna lie; this isn't going to be easy. The coming months will be uncomfortable, dull, and dangerous. But Grindelwald is out there. I know it. And we're going to find him no matter what, and this time, we're going to finish the job. We're going to round up the traitors, get support, clean house with all the sympathisers, and finish the Dark Lord for good – in that order. But first, we need to find out what happened here. I trust you six. Yes, Boris, even Glücksburg. But remember – loose lips, ships and so on. Ahuja said we need three months to clear a way to the ruin. We'll start tomorrow evening. I don't know where Grindelwald is or why he hasn't tried anything these past decades, but the reign of the Dark Lord wasn't short enough last time around, and I'll be damned if I let him rise to power again!'

They nodded grimly back at him. But they were tough people, determined, and he had known most of the kids since they'd left school. They wouldn't fail. They couldn't afford to. He only hoped they'd be able to maintain secrecy. This was why he hated working in Europe, confound it all! It would all work out if they just managed security, if they managed to keep the ancient pure-blood clans from interfering. Just that. Just secrecy – and all would be well. He was sure of it.

 _Memory Lane_

Arcturus' face flickered in the fire of the otherwise empty Slytherin common room. 'And you are absolutely sure it was Dolohov, Harry?'

'Yes! I saw his face as clear as day. It's not the sort of face you forget. There were others, but Dolohov was the only one who took off his hood. I remember I was dreaming something unrelated when the scene suddenly shifted. I just wish I'd been fully lucid; I could've identified a few of the others!'

'Indeed …' Arcturus remained silent for a moment. 'Intriguing. I can only presume your Occlumency really is progressing to the point that it's trying to deal with your locked memories. Most astonishing, Harry.'

Harry watched impatiently as his grandfather seemed to think over what his recollection meant. He was finding it hard not to dash into Hogsmeade and search for the bastard right then, but common sense demanded he seek advice first. If only his grandfather would hurry it up …

'Am I right in assuming that you wish to take action regarding Dolohov?' asked Arcturus mildly.

'Action?' repeated Harry with a laugh. 'I want the other names! I want a reason! And I want him dead! And it's got to be me who does it.'

'Do you really think this is wise, my son? Dolohov was in prison for quite some time. He might not even remember. And he was more animal than man to begin with. Animals don't always have reasons – they have urges.'

'No,' said Harry vehemently. 'They clearly acted on someone's behalf! Dolohov specifically told another to not harm me. It doesn't make any sense! I want the truth – all of it! And those sick bastards deserve what's coming for them for putting me through all of that!'

Again, Arcturus' eyes searched his. 'Forgive me, but you have yet to … recollect the events that led to your trauma, don't you, Harry?'

Harry nodded grimly. 'But I'll watch – gladly. I'll find out what happened to reduce me to a stuttering wreck for nearly ten years! I'll suffer those memories – I welcome them! I'll bear every tormenting detail, and when it's all cleared up, I'll find those dogs and make them pay! And it starts with Dolohov.'

His grandfather's brow furrowed. Harry knew the man didn't endorse crimes of passion – even revenge against the scum of the world. For Arcturus Black, every action taken required a guaranteed productive result of some form. Pride, on the other hand, was the byproduct of wise decisions; it wasn't an end.

'You seem adamant about this, Harry,' Arcturus said with some resignation.

Once more, Harry jerkily nodded. 'I am.'

'I see this is affecting you deeply, my son. But listen to me: time is wasting. The world is holding its breath, and there are things I have yet to tell you. This year – with all its turmoil, with Sirius' disappearance, with Dolohov, Pettigrew, and all the rest you've told me about – this may well be the last calm year we have for some time. The Lethifolds were nothing compared to what is to come. A distasteful diversion at best. I've tried to slow things down, but there are factors beyond my control. Peace is fleeting, and already someone has come knocking on the gates of turmoil.'

Lord Black sighed, closing his eyes, apparently coming to a decision. 'But maybe this is something you need to do. I sometimes forget how young you are, Harry. Ten years doesn't seem all that much to me, but it's the majority of your life – your cognisant life especially. Very well. I will not stand in your way. Whoever you will eventually discover, they are yours to deal with. I hope you appreciate this; it's a luxury I have rarely favoured those belonging to our family with.'

Harry bowed, his heart racing with triumph. 'Thank you.'

'I'll have a family member stand guard at Hogsmeade. Dolohov is armed and as dangerous as wild beasts get; he's sure to follow the lure of Hogwarts' students. I expect you to take care of yourself and our own. The sanctity of our family will be your paramount concern, do we understand another, Harry?'

'Yes, Grandfather.' Harry hesitated, grimacing. But he really ought to tell Lord Black. 'On that note, I, er, I have some bad news. Tracey … found out about Daphne's curse scar. She wasn't … thrilled.'

'Regrettable, but hardly surprising. We had to make the effort, naturally, but it's all the same in the end. I'll have a word with Amaryllis. Her daughter may be a touch … idealistic, but she won't pose a problem.'

'She punched me,' said Harry, who felt that those kinds of things certainly posed problems.

'Did she now?' asked Arcturus with the ghost of a smirk. 'I dare say she will treasure the memory even more once you claim your seat as head of the family. But in all seriousness, Harry, this is something you need to deal with yourself. But if you would look at the bright side, she wouldn't have suffered to strike you if you hadn't hurt her first. We shall speak later, my son. Keep working on your Occlumency. I have a visitor waiting. For now, I must bid you goodnight.'

The Floo flickered and died, leaving Harry to ponder his Grandfather's enigmatic words even as he cancelled his privacy charms.

 _Memory Lane_

'And the prodigal son returns to the fold. Welcome! I trust the journey hasn't been too exhausting?'

'Not at all. It was quite enjoyable, all in all. But I'd like to dispense with pleasantries; the colonel isn't a fool, and my absence will be noted should we dally. I'd rather not have that happen.'

'Agreed,' said Arcturus Black. 'So tell me – has your superior decided to follow the breadcrumbs we laid out for him here in Britain or is he intent on prying open an empty cage?'

The visitor smirked, relaxing in his chair, graciously accepting a glass of wine from a bowing elf. 'We're all set to waste a cold winter in the hinterlands. He's unrelenting, it has to be said. I can see why they called him the Sleuth. But, if you would indulge me, this is what I wasn't able to work out: Why _did_ you put his nose on it? I thought the Blacks had an … understanding with the Dark Lord?'

Arcturus waved a dismissive hand. 'An understanding … yes, you might call it thus. But was it our choice? Was there an alternative to pick? Not for me. For my father – yes. But for me? Nevertheless, I watched, I listened, I bided my time, I _learned_. The Dark Lord is not to be trusted. It is the curse of the powerful to see the world as their plaything, to see possibilities where others see rules. It would be foolish of me to openly break faith … but I see no reason not to lend assistance to our famous Auror now and then. The Blacks aren't, after all, officially allied with either party. Though I'd hoped to contain Grindelwald while his underbelly is exposed, I'd much rather see the ICW victorious if I had to pick a side.

'We all might have our different ideas on how to steer the ship, certainly, but it's in nobody's interest to see the vessel sunk. Grindelwald is the storm raging on the open sea. I am concerned with stability. What flag flies in the wind or even the ship's course is of no great interest to me – my primary ambition is keeping it afloat.'

The visitor inclined his head. 'Well said.'

* * *

 _Happy holidays!_  
 _Since I'll be spending most of my time next week with either my family or travelling, we'll have to make do with another break next week._


End file.
